Djinn Out of the Bottle
by Llewlyn
Summary: Moviebased. T Plus. Complete w epilogue! When Lydia is in danger, she calls the one name that she promised not to, and BJ saves her, for a price.  When he is bound, he can haunt her, hide the coffee, and make her head spin.  But when she sets him free...?
1. Lydia Looks in the Mirror

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

**Author's Notes**: This is almost exclusively movie-based, with a few nods to the excellent cartoon in the form of mirrors. It begins really dark, but it's a haunting, right? Thank you to you wonderful writers and reviewers and readers-- this is a bit of a departure from the existing Beetleverse, and i am still a little nervous about posting it. Please let me know what you think! xoxo

**Concept artwork** for the characters is up on my homepage. No original drawings-- it's all massive amounts of Photoshop goodness.

**Favorite Quote (from chapter...um... 15?):** Transportation by poltergeist was never, ever going to catch on, except possibly as an extreme sport.

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**Chapter 1: Lydia looks in the mirror.**

Lydia shut the door behind her against the jeering, drunken laughter and fumbled for the lock. She berated herself on ignoring her better instincts, but her roommate, Bethany, had insisted, using several exhibits in a comical prosecuting scolding, and Lydia had relented. Now Beth had vanished into an upstairs room, and Lydia was alone and very, very scared. Stupidly, instead of going out the door, she had gone higher into the house, and was now trapped. In a very unwashed, bile-smelling bathroom. Urgh.

A heavy, slurred voice hooted outside the door. "Linda! You in there? Cmere, little goth girl, and have some fun!" That would be Billy, her… "date."

"The hell I will! Leave me be!"

"Ha! You have to come out sometime. I gotta piss!" The ugly voice trailed off into general hilarity in the hallway, and Lydia rubbed her eyes. "It's Lydia, you drunk asshole." But no one out there was concerned about her name. She rested her hands on the sink and stretched out her shoulder blades. Maybe, if she waited long enough, the bastards would all pass out. And choke on their own vomit. And die. An angry, tearful grin split her lips, and she snorted daintly. Goodness, what a mess.

In the semi-darkness, Lydia examined her face. Paler than usual. She had actually been a little glad to get out of her room for a little bit. The night was fine, a beautiful fall evening before the deadly cold of a New York winter set in. It was supposed to be a theater party, and she liked theater people, mostly. But when they had arrived, she hadn't seen any familiar faces. Beth had, tho, and introduced her to Billy, a graceful, tall blonde boy with a ready smile. She had been, she flushed to remember, quite flattered. But the keg had gone too fast, and someone had broken out a bottle of gin, and the dynamic of the evening had changed…

"Need to get rid of the living…?" The flicker passed through her memory, and she grinned ruefully. She hadn't thought of him in a long time, though she had just seen Barbara and Adam last weekend. They had become part of her family, but Beetlejuice… he had never returned from that auspicious night. And then Juno had made her promise faithfully not to call him back. No matter what.

The thought coalesced in her head. It had been… nearly five years since he had tried to win his freedom. At her expense. But what style… "Beetlejuice," she whispered. Dangerous, Lydia. Surely there was a better way. A pounding on the door shocked her out of her reviere.

"I gotta use the john—who's hoggin' the frickin' bathroom?"

"Beetlejuice." He probably wouldn't even be listening. She flicked her eyes towards the door, and saw the handle beginning to turn. Panicking, she closed her eyes. "Beetlejuice."

For a moment, there was nothing. A light breeze stirred the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. She felt a chill, and then a tickle at her ear as a gravelly whisper floated against her. "Thought you would never ask, babe." She jumped, sucking in a startled scream, and then nearly screamed again as she turned to see… herself.

Her doppelganger was, if possible, even more pale, with purple smudges under her eyes and a glint of something… not quite sane in her dark eyes. Lydia took a step back, and pressed up against the wall. "That's really frightening, Beetl—" Her dark double bared sharp white teeth and threw up her had to cover Lydia's mouth, but Lydia had already caught herself. "…um, B." She smiled uncertainly, and the other girl smiled, too, a feral smile than chilled Lydia through. Gods, what had she set free? The pounding began in earnest, and they were both jolted back to the immediate moment.

"I'm coming out!" Beetlejuice-as-Lydia singsonged in Lydia's voice. She… he opened the door, and struck a coy position in the doorframe, her own hip pressed against one side of the frame, and her back curved gracefully to set her shoulder against the other side. "Hello boys. Did'ya miss me?"

From where Lydia stood, she could see Billy's expression, at first full of scornful triumph aimed at the girl he thought was his conquest. But as she watched, uncertainty filled his eyes. Her double just stood there, and Lydia could only imagine what sort of expression Beetlejuice had set upon her own lips. She heard her voice again, but with a dark intonation she had never ever imagined she was capable of. "C'mon, sugar. Didn't you want to have a little… fun?"

At the last word, the uncertainty in Billy's eyes darkened to abject terror. His mouth opened wider than she thought possible, and then the scream came, a choked keening that didn't sound remotely human. And then he vanished down the stairs faster than anyone she had ever seen, drunk or sober. She grinned, and then laughed out loud. Beetlejuice turned back to her, his eyebrow at a rakish angle, and grinned that feral grin. Somehow, it looked much nicer on his mouth than on her own, like it belonged there. "That was too easy."

"Yeah, well, you just make it look easy, B." But her voice was still a little shaky. She gathered herself, and stepped up next to him, but he faded from view, with a lingering whisper.

"Now it's your turn to make it look easy." She realized that he was going to make her walk out on her own. She took a step into the hall to find that all noise in the house had stopped. Completely. The hall was deserted, and as she walked down the stairs, wide eyes stared back at her. Everyone's full attention was centered directly on the frail looking girl in black who had evidently just made Billy Martin wet his pants and run screaming out the door. Then, unexpectedly, a hesitant clapping startled her. A tanned, blonde girl in the downstairs foyer was… applauding her. Another girl, slim and dark, joined in. And another. Lydia's heart was pounding wildly, but she continued to walk with her back straight down the stair to the curious applause. A grin broke out from her tightly suppressed emotions, and the blonde girl smiled back fiercely. The sound of clapping followed her out the door.


	2. Social Invitation of the Century

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

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**Chapter 2: Social Invitation of the Century**

Lydia wasn't alone for long. As soon as she turned the corner, he materialized back into view. Overcome with fierce joy, she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. He tottered a bit, and then hesitantly returned her embrace, but she was already pulling away. "That was amazing! B, you are—"

"Ghost with the Most. Yeah, we've been here already." But she could see by the pale pink flush in his grey cheek that he was pleased. She turned to look at him more carefully, but he shied away from her gaze. "Geez, Lyds, it hasn't been that long."

But she had managed to get a look at him—a good look, and it wasn't what she had expected. He was gaunter, but less dusty. His clothes seemed more recent, like at least within the century, and certainly more subdued than the striped suit she had last seen him in. And his face, still fey and dangerous, with the dramatically upswept eyebrows and brilliant green eyes, was somehow more delicate than she remembered. "You look… different."

"So do you." His voice was curiously gruff.

"Well, it's been five years. I actually aged." She tried a smile, and was pleased to find it genuine.

He waved her comment off, very blasé. "Drop in the eternity bucket." There was silence between them for a tense moment, and Lydia felt that she was forgetting something important. She had called, and he had come. Why? The last time she saw him he had been eaten by a sandworm, after having terrorized her family and her friends. She didn't know if it was more strange that he had come, or that she had wanted him to. Had thought of him at all. One thing was certain, though—she did not want him to leave just yet.

"Would you…um, do you… drink coffee?"

He stopped in the street, an amazed look on his face, right in the path of an oncoming car. Lydia threw out her hand, and caught a glimpse of the terrified driver as the car passed right through him, brakes squealing. As if nothing had happened, his brow crinkled in consideration. "Are you asking if I want to stay and chat?"

She gaped at him, completely at a loss. The driver of the car, an older woman, climbed out of her car and rushed back to where Lydia was standing, alone. "Oh my God! Did I hit someone? I thought I hit someone!" Her panicked voice subsided into confusion. Lydia shrugged helplessly.

"I didn't see anyone," she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. The woman looked around her feet, and even under the car, but then shrugged.

"I better stop driving at night. Eyes playing tricks!" And she shuffled back to her car, got in, and drove off. Lydia heard Beetlejuice snort in ill-contained hilarity, but he didn't reappear. She shook her head, waited for the piled up traffic to pass, and then headed in the direction of her dorm.

"So do you?" She felt a bit of an idiot talking to herself, but it was far down on the list of odd things, even for today.

"You want me to stay?" The disbelief was evident even in his disembodied voice.

"B, you just got me out of a tight corner back there. I owe you…" And as she said it, she wished that she could swallow her words. But it was too late. She felt rather than saw him smile, a toothy chill creeping across her shoulder blades.

"That's true. So yes, I'd be thrilled to throw back a couple with ya, Lyds. Talk terms, all that."

"I'm not going to marry you," she muttered.

"You haven't sent me back. That's a good start, where I come from." She felt that tingle again, and was absurdly glad she couldn't see his face.

Lydia paused again, safely on the lawn, overcome with curiosity. "Where do you come from?"

But he didn't answer, and she felt well and truly alone this time. She shook her head. "What am I getting myself into?" A dark chuckled drifted across the grass, and she turned back again and walked the rest of the way to her dorm in silence.


	3. Mirror Mirror

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

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**Chapter 3: Mirror Mirror **

Shutting and locking the door was very, very satisfying. Lydia wandered over to her purple sphere chair and collapsed bonelessly into it. Wait… purple? She jumped up, but not soon enough to escape getting her backside pinched. "Dammit B! Out of the frying pan…!"

"You promised there would be coffee." Now fully materialized, Beetlejuice sat smug as a cat in her favorite chair, now back to its original red. She looked around for something to throw at him, but there was nothing handy that was big enough. With a small scream of frustration, she stalked into the kitchenette. "I take cream and sugar!" he shouted after her.

As she rinsed out the coffeemaker from that morning and refilled it, she pondered her own words. Had she gotten herself into a bigger mess than she could handle by calling him? She felt a little guilty at that, because of what he had done for her tonight. Of course, all she had to do was say his name and he would be out of her life. But of course, all he had to do was make it impossible for her to speak. That chilled her a little, remembering the steel plate affixed to Barbara's mouth that terrible night. But he wouldn't hurt her. Her dad, mom, the Maitlands… just about every one else, but never her. She scowled. She'd rather he tossed her in the Winter River than be married to him. China with a cockroach pattern. With that lovely thought on her mind, she poured the coffee, gathered milk and sugar on an orange plastic cafeteria tray, and carried it back into the main room, where she caught Beetlejuice rifling through her papers.

"Quit! Do you mind?" She handed him the entire tray and he took it awkwardly and then just set it adrift on a particularly weighty current of air.

"I don't mind at all, babe! I'm just getting' to know my future wife better." He gave her a toothy grin, and she scowled even deeper.

"We've been over this."

"Not to where I'm satisfied, darlin'."

"I. am. not. your. darling." She grabbed her own cup, and fell gracelessly into the chair he had vacated. Still red. She sighed and closed her eyes, suddenly very tired. "Thank you for tonight, B. I didn't think I was going to get out of there intact." And then she flushed, hoping that he didn't realize what she had just tacitly admitted. Damn, she was more tired than she thought.

When she opened her eyes again, he was peering at her curiously. Something in her eyes warned him off, and for once in his long afterlife, he took the hint. "Why were you even there, Lyds? You hate that stuff."

It was her turn to focus curiously on him. "How do you know?"

He stared intently at his own coffee. "Nothin! You just, you don't seem the partyin' type, is all!" But she didn't fall for his bluster, if she ever had.

"How do you know? Beetlej-"

"Ah ah ah! Fine, alright. I sometimes came to check up on you. But not much! Hardly at all, really. I mean, a popular guy like me has so much to do…" he trailed off. Because she was staring at him, hard.

"Spying, B?" Her voice was low and very dangerous. He glanced involuntarily at the mirror, and she almost dropped her coffee. "The mirror? You see me through the…!"

He looked at the floor, but she caught his cheeky grin. She was out of the chair in an instant. "You mean to tell me that you've watched me through my own mirror? Oh my God. I change in front of that!" He looked up at her, eyes wide.

"Lyds! I wouldn't take advantage like that! I mean, that's your privacy, and all. I," he said with a hint of asperity, "am a gentleman."

"Yeah, right." But she subsided. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart." He flicked his long fingers over the place where she supposed his heart used to be, when it was still beating.

She let out a breath. "You're already dead."

"So they tell me." Lydia slumped back down into her chair. A moment passed in silence, and then he burst into a huge guffawing laughter, unable to hold it in any longer. "You… you!" he gasped between breaths. "You actually believed me! Ha hah ah hah ha!" Her lips pressed together in fury, and she rode out the storm of his laughter in livid, mortified silence. Bastard. She should have taken her chances with Billy the Squid.


	4. The Good Stuff

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

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**Chapter 4: The Good Stuff **

When his wheezing finally stopped, she grimly set down her coffee mug. "No more, Beetlejuice." He winced, hating his name now as much as he loved it an hour ago. Lydia was in a fine fury, and her normally ivory cheeks were flaming pink. "I am not going to give up mirrors, so you are going to have to give up looking through them!"

"If I did that, babe, I never woulda come for you tonight. It's how I keep tabs on you. Mirrors… go both ways, if you know what I mean."

"B, not only is it mortifying that you've been… spying, " she sputtered, "but it's creepy. Bloody Mary creepy. I'm never going to look into another mirror again without wondering who's peering out at me. Yech! It's a complete violation of privacy!" She huffed, pacing around the little room. Finally, he stood and caught her by the arms.

"Quit. You're driving me nuts."

"Too late," she said sweetly. He twisted his lip at her.

"Fer starters, Bloody Mary is a myth. She doesn't exist. An' if she did exist, she wouldn't come after you." He paused. "You haven't killed anyone, have you?"

"Not. Yet." Lydia pushed against his grip once, and then relaxed and slipped away. She put her hand over her eyes and turned slightly away from him.

"Second, all I ever see is you gettin' thinner and thinner. I figure you would be joinin' me soon. So what's not to love?" He crossed his arms.

"Shut up! That's quite enough, B. Just promise me that you won't… anymore?" She was feeling fretful now, and couldn't pinpoint the reason. Why did she care, anyway? He was Dead. So what if he thought she was too thin? Ghosts were nothing but hot air. Her hands reflexively grasped at her upper arms, where she could still feel in imprints of his hands. For his part, he just stood and watched her think. And slowly she realized that he hadn't answered her. She lifted her eyes to find him staring at her chin. "What?"

"You're really pretty… when you're not talking." Flavoring the final word with as much scorn as he could muster, he spun around and floated up to the ceiling, pressing his back against it and staring down at her. "When did you grow up and get all snarky?"

"The night you tried to force me to marry you." She folded herself onto the floor. "You missed all the good stuff." Weariness soaked her through to the bone.

"I'm here now." The last was very quiet. She squinted up at him.

"What should I do with you?"

"Tuck me in and sing me a song?" he suggested. He was suddenly on the floor, his head in her lap. She started backwards, and then grimaced at him.

"Doubt it." But she smiled, and he smiled back at her, and it wasn't a dangerous smile, or a feral one. And something just behind her heart might have shifted. Just a little. "I can't leave you out to do harm to whomever you please, B. I have to put you back."

His voice got very serious, more serious than she had ever heard him speak, except for their first conversation. She still remembered the terrible depths of sincere sorrow in his voice when she had told him she wanted to be dead. 'Why?' he had asked, and she had felt the full force of him behind it. As she did now. "I'm not a dog, Lyds. I'm not here to serve your every whim." She pursed her lips, and he paused thoughtfully. "You asked me where I was from. Still wanna know?"

She nodded. "Well, get ready for bed, whatever it is that you do, not that I know." He waggled his eyebrows at her and she smacked him lightly on his cheek. His skin was cool. What had she expected? "And then I'll tell you the story." Wearily, she acquiesced, and dragged herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She supposed the mirror in there was safe, since he was already out, so she took her nightgown with her. As she stared at her grim, red-rimmed eyes, she sighed heartily. He was just banking on her falling asleep mid-story. She knew that. If she said the words right now, he wouldn't be able to stop her. But instead, she brushed her teeth. If he was taking advantage of her, she could always get him back for it later.


	5. Bedtime Story

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

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**Chapter 5: Bedtime Story **

Lydia emerged from the bathroom feeling very slightly better, having taken a hot shower to wash away the rest of the ickyness that still clung to her with the cigarette smoke and the miasma of alcohol and vomit that was the oh-so-charming bouquet of the 'party.' She meandered to the mirror to brush the tangles out of her hair, when a hand on her arm surprised her. She turned to see Beetlejuice sitting on her bed, waving her comb, ten feet away.

"C'mere, babe. If I wait for you to do that, you'll be asleep before I even start." Ever aware that she was being not-so-subtly manipulated, still, she would never turn down the offer for someone else to brush out her hair. He must have known it too, the bastard. She paced dutifully over to the bed and climbed on top of the covers, presenting her back to him. He pulled her back slightly by her hips until her tailbone was pressed against his knee, and hesitantly lifted the comb, pondering where to start.

"You have done this before?" Her voice was wary.

"Um. Well, I've watched you a… few times." He grimaced, realizing he had been about to say the word 'hundred.' She reached back and took his cold hand in her warm one, moving it down toward the bottom of her hair.

"Start low. And be gentle. Don't tug. Please." She added that last as an afterthought. He wondered what he had just signed on to do—it sounded complicated. He took a strand of her hair between his fingers and just… just savored the silkiness of it. How many times had he watched her do this? A hundred had to be an understatement. And to be here now, doing this, was a little overwhelming. He tucked the comb in and pulled gently down, and to his relief, he didn't hit any snags. "I won't break," came her sleepy voice. "You can tug a little." And she snuggled back into him, relaxing at last.

He grew slightly bolder, and instantly hit a big tangle, so he sighed and got to working on it as he began his story. "I can't really tell you who I was before I died, like my name or anythin', because then you'd be, you know, tracking down my estate and diggin' up my lawn for buried treasure, and shit like that. But I was alive during the Black Plague, if that'll fix the date for you."

"Mid 14th century" Lydia mumbled drowsily.

"Round there, yep."

"So you didn't attend Julliard?"

"I did, just not as a—hey! Whose story is this?" She waved a limp wrist at him to continue, but he could feel her shoulders shaking with a giggle or two. He shook his head, and bent to a particularly difficult snarl. "Anyhoo, I actually lived through the Black Death, right up until the very end. We were all waiting for the winter, ya see, and knew that the cold would bring relief. But somehow I got… I was… oh, dammit, I wasn't going to tell you about this part. Forget it." She turned to look at him, a glimmer in her eye, and he twisted his lip at her. "Fine. I was out on the moor and fell into a bog. Happy? I'm probably still there. Bogs keep everything."

"That would be really strange if you were still there." Her voice was so soft. Her dark hair was pretty much combed through. She leaned heavily against him, and he shifted slightly so that her head dropped comfortably against his thigh, but he still continued to stroke her hair, comb forgotten. "It took me a while to figure out what I was doing. There were hundreds of us out there, all lost our way in the gloom. Lots of… well, it was an easy burial ground too, if you take my meaning, so we all just sort of milled around for 125 years, watching the frickin' grass grow and playing cards with a deck this fellow had that was missing the jack of hearts…" He trailed off. Her breathing was heavy and even. She wasn't listening to him anymore. And she hadn't put him back.


	6. Time to Think

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

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**Chapter 6: Time to Think**

Ghosts don't have to sleep. Ghosts can shut their eyes, if they still have them, and the mind can wander, if it's still attached in the first place. Sometimes ghosts slept to keep from going insane. Beetlejuice never slept. He looked down at the girl asleep in his lap and wondered what this strange feeling was, the heaviness between his shoulder blades and on his brow. She didn't look all that comfortable, come to think of it. He tried to edge away, and her hand came up and grasped at his knee. Not quite asleep, then.

He hovered her carefully, and then propped himself up on her bed, just for a moment. The night was out there, and he was free. The thought made him a little giddy. But he wanted to wait until she was completely out, of course. Otherwise she could snatch him back at any moment, and he didn't want that hanging over his head. She settled gently beside him, turning and snuggling her backbone into his chest. Oh. This was… unexpected. Not like he could keep her warm, or anything. But she curled firmly against him, and he found his hand resting on her hip, through no fault of his. Hands always had a mind of their own, anyway. He could feel her hipbone through her nightshirt, and scowled slightly. And surprisingly, he could feel her warmth, too. It was a… curious sensation. He settled in beside her to ponder all of it.

So she had called him, and he had come. How long had he fretted that she wouldn't—that she would get in over her head, and fall into a bog, or whatever, and his chance would be gone. Watching her with frustrated impotence from behind her mirrors had been the tedious pastime of five years. But as he had watched her, he had begun to absorb something of her life, too. And that had been… annoying.

He remembered one evening in particular that she had come home and sat in front of the mirror for hours, combing out her hair and weeping quietly, tears trailing down her cheeks and her nose and eyes red with grief. He had snorted in discomfort and turned away, but then had found himself wondering what it was that had gotten her so upset. Not that he cared, but he was concerned about her health because she had to be alive when he married her. When he looked back at her, she had been clutching a letter, a note written on a torn out sheet of notebook paper. He couldn't read it, but she read it over and over, until her lips whispered the words, _leave me alone_. Obviously the message of the letter. Who would tell such a beautiful girl such a thing? He snorted without grace. Men were idiots. He was glad he wasn't one, anymore.

Another night he had to watch Lydia come in on her roommate making out with a boy, and that had been supremely entertaining. Lydia and her roommate… Betsy? Betty? Whatever, they seemed to get along pretty well. Sometimes Lydia would even get out and enjoy herself because of her roommate's encouragement, rather than poring over her books and sketches. But this evening, Lydia had come upon them as she came in to grab her books for her evening art class. And had just exploded. "For Pete's sake, Beth!" He grinned as he remembered how embarrassed she had been, her delicate complexion flushing a pale, angry pink. "This is my room too, you know, not a hotel. I'll be back in two hours." And she had fixed them both with a fierce glare. Beth had attempted a weak defense, but Lydia flounced out and slammed the door.

So for five years, he had watched her, and he had to admit, he knew her routines, if not her mind, pretty well. But she didn't know he did. And something told him that he would have to be an idiot to admit as much to her. She stirred in her sleep, and shifted so that she was facing him now, her eyes squeezed shut in a dream. The night beckoned. He hovered gently upwards, losing substance as he did, and eased away from her curled body. Her arm came up and passed right through him, and then she reached over the bed.


	7. Lines are Drawn

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

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**Chapter 7: Lines are Drawn**

"Beetlejuice? Are you leaving me?" He remained silent, hoping that she would just fall back asleep. But instead, she roused herself and peered up at him, squinting in the gloom. "B? Don't make me put you back."

He groaned, all pretence of silence dropped. "C'mon, Lyds. I won't do any harm, promise! It's been so long since I got out and stretched my legs. Be back in half an hour. I'll even bring you a present!" he added hopefully.

"I'd rather you stayed here. It's… nice." She must not have been fully awake, because she didn't blush nearly as much as he did, and he was dead. He sighed dramatically, but the odd feeling inside his breast intensified. Strangely, he found that he didn't really want to leave, either. So he grumbled a bit to put up a show for his dignity, and then drifted back down to settle next to her. She smiled, then. "I've never slept next to a poltergeist before. It's much more peaceful than I had imagined. No spinning beds or anything."

"If you like…!" And the bed lifted up clear of her desk and spun lazily around in the center of the room. She giggled and thumped his chest with the flat of her palm.

"B, you take everything so literally."

"This stuff is easier that being solid, babe. I'll do as much of the haunting as you like. That's the fun part!"

"It's hard to be solid?" She tucked up on her elbows, but evidently didn't realize how close that would bring her to his face. She found herself mere inches from him, noses almost touching. Startled, she jumped back a bit, and so did he, and the bed crashed to the floor. "Oof!" They were tangled up now, truly; his arm was flung around her to hold her steady and she was pressed against his chest, her arms trapped under her. She extricated herself with speed, and he let her go, but watched her with an amused sparkle in his luminescent eyes.

"It's hard to be a lot of things, Lyds. What are you so afraid of?"

She sighed heartily and sat criss-cross on the bed. "Not you." She widened her eyes and jutted out her jaw for emphasis. "Just… how many girls sleep with… next to ghosts and think that's perfectly normal? It can't be normal. And if it's so hard to be solid, why do you do it?"

"That's two questions, I think."

"What, do I have to pay extra for two?" He gave her that chilling, feral smile again, and she tucked her arms more firmly in her lap, refusing to be intimidated.

"I'll answer both for free. But don't forget that you owe me." He straightened, made a show of dusting off his coat, and then fixed her with the slightly deranged glare that had become so familiar to her. "It's hard to remain corporeal because of havin' to concentrate on it all the time. You see, when you… surprised me with the question in the street about the coffee, I lost it. It's the only reason that old lady didn't end up with a beetle in her radiator." Lydia giggled at the image, and Beetlejuice lifted an eyebrow at her. "As for the other, that's hard to say, 'cause I don't know what goes for normal round you. So I guess you'll have to answer that yourself."

Lydia nodded after a moment. "That's fair. I guess for me, the strangeness is not so much that you're dead, but that we're supposed to be mortal enemies." She poked a finger at his breastbone. "You did almost shanghai me into an illicit marriage."

He poked a long, slender finger back at her, grazing her nose. "Also saved the afterlives of your deeeaar friends."

"You should have done that anyway."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't do anythin' that doesn't have nothin' in it for me."

She paused and fixed him with a deep look, her dark brown eyes such a contrast to his pale green. "So what's in it for you, staying here with me on a night like this?"

At that he looked down at his hands. "I want out. Like I said. That hasn't changed. And you seem to tolerate me much better than… well, anyone. So I have a better chance of convincin' you than, say, Delia."

Lydia laughed out loud. "Delia? I think you wouldn't last ten minutes in a marriage with my step-mother." He looked up, a sheepish grin on his lips. She sobered then. "So that's it. You want me to marry you and set you free?"

"Pretty much," he grunted.

"What would marriage to you be like, exactly? What does the wife of a ghost do?" He looked uncomfortable, and then gazed back up at her, and she caught the unmistakable look of wistful longing in his eyes. A shiver traveled thought her body.

He lay back down on the bed, and after a long-considered moment, she followed him, tucking her head between his shoulder and chest. He, in turn, slid his arms around her and linked his fingers just above her hip. It was the most intimate she had ever been with a man, if this even counted, and she felt it in the nervous tremor that seemed to take up residence in her stomach. But she breathed him in, and he smelled of dust and candle wax and old wool and whiskey, not unpleasant. She lifted a finger to trace the line of his jaw, the bone so clear underneath his translucent skin, and felt him jump slightly under her touch. His skin was cold to her, but soft.

"Careful, Lyds, that tickles." But his voice betrayed him by shaking a little.

"You can feel that?" She shifted slightly, her hand splayed against his collar with her thumb settled against the curve of his breastbone. She felt rather than heard him sighing.

"I can feel your warmth, Lydia. I can feel same as you." And there was such a depth of melancholy in his voice that she no longer feared for him leaving. She rather feared that he would stay.


	8. Marriage Counseling

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

**Author's Notes:** A deliberate reference to another wonderful romance is tucked away in here somewhere. Free movie related drabble to the person who identifies it! And WitchyWanda (sorry-- i'm a dork ;)), thank you for your kind support—it means a lot!

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**Chapter 8: Marriage Counseling**

Lydia woke to a thunderous racket. She grabbed at her bedspread and tried to see what was going on around her, but all she could see was what looked like a thunderstorm, except that it was in her room.

"What the hell is going on, B?" she screamed, but she couldn't see him. Then she heard a familiar voice, heavily distorted with anger.

"Beetlejuicebeetlejuicebeetlejuice!" And then, silence so sudden than she felt it happen. As the glare faded from her eyes, she blinked and could make out a figure standing by the mirror. Unfortunately, she already knew who it was. And her stomach plummeted.

"Hi, Juno." She smiled weakly, but the old woman glared thunderously at her.

"What are promises for, Lydia Deetz, if they aren't ever kept?" Juno stalked over to the bed, which Lydia belatedly realized was still in the middle of the room, and then sat down wearily. She looked the same as ever, with the huge gash in her throat flooding out smoke from the cigarette clutched in her fingers.

Lydia attempted to look meek. "I was in bad trouble, Juno. Beet… B saved me."

"So I heard. Knight in shining armor." She turned to Lydia and wagged her cigarette at her. "You should listen to your own advice, sometimes, Miss Deetz. If you thought you had trouble then, you surely have trouble now. He's not easily dissuaded, and especially with such encouragement as you have given him!" The last four words were pitched to be audible to the entire dorm, and Lydia winced.

"I know I broke my promise. But he has been really… calm. We've been talking."

Despite herself, Juno was curious. "About what?" But Lydia shook her head.

"First, tell me how you knew he was here."

Juno laughed, surprising Lydia into a smile. "He doesn't keep secrets well, Lydia, even though he may think he does. Because of his… well, his EMF and Gauss are off the scale, really… his ectoplasmic trail is the size of Halley's Comet, and he can't hide it. Might as well put a neon sign above his door… "Gone to rescue Lydia."

"So when he… left, you knew it was me?"

"Better. Since he mostly uses mirrors, I just had to find the one that resonated with his… particular signature. When I came through, he was… well, I just, I didn't know that you knew that he was… that you would allow…" She fumbled to a stop, flustered. Lydia blushed, feeling a little ashamed. Juno must have thought he had taken advantage, and Lydia had no convincing explanation for it herself.

"I was tired," she murmured. "He was telling me about how he died, and then… what?"

Juno was staring at her with open shock. "He told you how he died? Beetlejuice told you that?" Lydia gaped; Juno had forgotten herself enough to utter his name. She nodded, bemused.

"And then I guess I fell asleep, because I don't remember much of anything else, except maybe the bed spinning around, and… and that's all." But she flushed, vividly remembering fingering his collar now, and his reply to her thoughtless inquiry. Juno was silent for a moment, and then she seemed to come to a decision.

"Lydia, you must know what he wants from you."

Lydia nodded. "He said that he wanted to marry me, so that he could get out permanently."

Juno shook her head and smiled a sad smile. "That's what he thinks, is it? I may be doing him a disservice, but he has done me a fair number, so he owes me. I am going to tell you the rest of his story, Lydia." Juno stood and pulled out the wooden chair from under the desk, and sat in it, and then paused to light another cigarette. Lydia settled in, crossing her legs and pulling the comforter over her lap. "After he served his time, he put up a terrible fuss with the Administration. He felt that he had been cheated, and wanted to see the world. Now sometimes we have a choice, and sometimes we don't, and he wasn't one of those who did. No unfinished business or anything like that. The plague was like that; it took so many families whole that there was no soul memory. So they were going to send him on, but he kept embroiling everyone in massive amounts of paperwork, and so we were distracted when he went to appeal to a… higher authority." She grunted, remembering his audacity. Lydia smiled softly, thinking that sounded very much like him.

"The upshot of this… meeting… was this: he would get to stay, and somehow in the process he got upgraded to, well, something pretty terrifying, if you ask me. In the presence of certain kinds of energy, we can absorb it and, well, he absorbed a great deal. I think he must have known, and used his ability to distract in that matter as well. Scoundrel." But she said the word with some fondness, and Lydia began to suspect that Juno's feelings for him were not as simple as she made out. That certainly made two of them. "Anyway, the condition was that he could stay for an indeterminate time in the Netherworld, but could only return to Earth if he could convince someone to say his name three times. He only found out afterwards that he had lost the ability to say his own name." She smirked. "Not that that ever stopped him. He was always a clever fellow." She smiled then, until she noticed Lydia smiling with her. "Too clever! And now he's got you in his clutches."

"I'm not in his 'clutches', Juno. I… he was just telling me a story and I fell asleep. That's all. And I'm not going to marry him, don't worry." But Juno scowled again, and Lydia had a feeling she wasn't doing a very good job of hiding her not-so-simple feelings.

"Lydia, it's not marriage that will set him free. Let me tell you the rest, before you come to any conclusions." Juno punctuated her narrative with stabs of the cigarette. "A few hundred years ago, the conditions set against him started to chafe, as you can well imagine, and he somehow arranged another 'meeting.' Well, he has some ability for making friends, although as to him keeping them… Anyway, he came back with the following condition. If he could find someone that loved him first, before anything else, and whom he loved before anything else as well, then he would be free." She looked down. "He thought he was getting a signed pardon. I knew it for what it was: a tantalus."

Juno looked piercingly at Lydia then, and Lydia looked back for a moment, and then down at her knees. "He might possibly get you to love him, Lydia. You have that look in your eye, even now, of being willing to be convinced." She held up her hand to Lydia's feeble protest. "But nothing on this earth, underneath it, or over, will ever move him to love anyone or anything more than he loves himself. So he is well and truly stuck."

They were both silent for a long while, Lydia processing and Juno allowing her the time. Finally, Lydia stirred herself. "Why do you care so much about him?" Juno gave her a sharp look, and then slumped a little, looking defeated.

"I thought you might have already figured that out." She stared into the middle distance for a moment, gathering herself. And then, in a weary voice, she murmured, "He's my grandson." Lydia's jaw dropped. Juno sighed, and straightened. "I can't tell you what to do, Lydia. I can only beg you to be careful. He is about as dangerous as dangerous gets, and I don't say that to make him sound attractive to you." She looked speculatively at Lydia. "You may be a good influence on him, but if that fails, I don't care to think of the consequences. Or the paperwork." And with that enigmatic statement, she faded into the gloom. But Lydia got no more sleep that night, and only startled from her reverie with the sound of her roommate's key in the lock.


	9. The Challenge

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Challenge **

Beth stumbled into the room, looking disheveled and tired, and cast around immediately for her preoccupied roommate, who realized, for the third time that night, that the bed was still in the middle of the room. Beth fell on the bed and grabbed Lydia by the knees.

"I am so sorry! I had no idea what an arsehole Billy was until you… you… what did you do, Lyddie? He pissed his pants, for God's sake!" She giggled, and then rolled on her back. "And then all the girls were talking about what a player he was, and how they were glad that someone had finally put the fear of God into him—it was fabulous! You should have stuck around. You're a bit of a hero, actually." She grinned, her mild British lilt more pronounced with the amount of alcohol she had consumed. Lydia grinned back blearily.

"Well, it wasn't anything more than he deserved. He had me barricaded in the bathroom for a while there." And then her knight in shining armor came and saved her… she shook her head. "I hope he won't be terrorizing the sororities for a while, now."

"What did you do, Lyddie? It must have been really scary, because everyone who saw his face got a little bit of a chill, they all said. He looked really terrified." Lydia got a chill, then, too. What had Beetlejuice done, anyway? She hadn't thought to ask, having been so relieved to be safe. She hoped fervently that there was no permanent damage. But she shrugged it off for the benefit of her friend.

"I pulled a Bloody Mary on him. He must have murdered someone, because he took off like a bat out of hell." She forced a grin, and Beth smiled back, oblivious. She picked herself up off the bed, and then frowned.

"Redecorating? I have to say it's a bit in the way…"

At that, Lydia laughed. "No, I'll put it back. I had to… um, change the lightbulb. And then I just fell asleep." The lies were coming easier all the time. Beth threw herself onto her own bed and sighed. A few moments told Lydia that her friend was out for the count, and she climbed off her bed and tried to shove it back into the corner. But he had lifted it over her desk, and she couldn't lift it back. "Oh hell, B."

"Need some help, Lyddie?" Lydia's heart jumped in her breast and she spun around to find Beetlejuice sitting in the same chair he had occupied on and off all night. She put her hand to her throat.

"I thought Juno put you back!"

"Can we get somethin' straight here? I. am. not. a. toy." His voice was a little more menacing than it needed to be, but she remembered the gentle way he had brushed out her hair, and refused to be afraid of him. Instead, she raised an eyebrow at him, and he grinned a half grin without showing teeth. "You have to 'put me back' if you 'take me out' in the first place, babe. Juno knows that. She might have tossed me a few miles, but I'm quick." To exemplify, he flicked his hand and the bed and it dutifully floated up and over the desk and settled in its rightful place. Then he made a great show of cracking his knuckles. "So, what did you gals talk about?"

"You. You should be flattered." She gave him her own toothy grin. "She came to warn me about you, and told me the rest of your story. And that marriage won't get you out after all." With each successive statement, his expression got bleaker and bleaker, until she finally took pity on him, and walked over to his chair. "B…" He flicked his eyes up at her, and there was something dark and deep just beneath the surface of him that gave her a bit of a shiver. She had to steadily remind herself that he was a poltergeist, not a man. Not anymore. Then he stood, and he was so close that she could feel the energy crackling off of him, making the hairs on her arms stand straight up. She swallowed. "Juno said that your gauss was off the scale." Where the hell did that come from?

"Tryin' to distract me, Lyds?" He lifted her chin with a cool fingertip, a memory of what she had done with him. "I don't distract easy."

"Yes, you do." Her voice came out a squeak, and she squeezed her eyes shut in chagrin. When she opened them again, he was smiling that feral smile again.

"Say my name." His eyes glittered in the half-light, and his voice rumbled through her. Gods, he was too close. And dead. Not alive. She could clearly see the outline of his cheekbones, the translucent skin stretched taut and gaunt. Deep shadows under his eyes. No heat from his body.

"Beetlejuice," she whispered. His fingertip trailed down her jaw, and she could not believe she was standing here, allowing him to touch her like that, not screaming and running out, and his gauss was off the scale…

"Say my name, Lydia." Were his eyes green? They looked dark now. Was this what panic really felt like? She couldn't move, but then she realized that she could, and she just didn't want to. Deep breath.

She tilted her head slightly and circled him, and he mirrored her. "What are you playing at, Beetlejuice?" His smile only grew, and his eyes were darker now, she could see. He remained an inch or two away, his hand grazing past the curve of her jawbone now.

"Say my name."

"Why?" She was bending with him now, irresistibly being pulled into him, and she couldn't stop herself, and he was going to kiss her, and she, God help her, she wanted him to.

"Because I'll be waiting for you to call me out again."

"I thought you weren't a toy," she whispered, lips brushing against his mouth. Cool, just like the rest of him. He pulled back slightly, his curving smile more ironic than she had ever seen.

"It seems I'm at your service, whatever I might want for myself."

"Beetlejuice, I…" But a sharp wind snapped her in the face, collapsing into the empty space where he had been. She closed her eyes in frustration, and covered her eyes with her hand.

"_say my name…"_ Just a whiskey whisper in her ear. She felt a near-overwhelming urge to call him back right then and there, but she grimaced at the look of triumph she knew he would bear. No, she needed time. Time, and a cold shower. Very cold.


	10. A Familiar Grin

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

**Author's Notes: **  
_Spiderjuice_-- :beams: i'm very glad you like it! This is my first Beetlejuice story, but in a way, it's my oldest too, not counting Labyrinth. It's been rolling around in my little brain for 15 years or so. And if you do catch typos, please let me know-- this is un-beta'd, and i'm highly caffinated. Thank you!

_WitchyWanda-- _Thank you thank you! I hope to be able to see PotC soon-- i can't seem to type fast enough-- feel like a ghostwriter! (ha ha ;)

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**Chapter 10: A Familiar Grin**

Mirrors. She had never known how many mirrors there were in all the world. Hundreds. Every reflective surface stared back at her, and she knew that he was grinning at her out of all of them. It would have been frightening, except for that look in his eye, the cool graze of his lips and fingers. That made it terrifying. And her breath quickened at the thought that terror wasn't as close as perhaps, exhilaration.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw his charming, wicked grin. Every time the noise around her dropped off, she heard his gravelly, silken voice in her ear. _Say my name, Lydia._ Class went by in a sleep-deprived, distracted daze, and more than once she found herself staring at the windows, and her own pale and drawn reflection. After lunch, she gave up altogether, but didn't want to return to her room just yet. So she found herself at her favorite coffee shop, Uncommon Grounds, and found that particularly suitable. Although Unholy Grounds might be more appropriate. A large double shot in the dark Sumatra clutched in her hands, she retreated to a booth in the back.

Her feelings for him were a study in conflict, magnified a thousand times by the fact that he was dead. She had no trouble at all loving dead people—Barbara and Adam were dearly beloved and good friends, too. But this wasn't about that kind of love. Not remotely. She could still feel his long fingers stroking back her hair, and the solidity of his chest as she relaxed against him. Not breathing. Having a poltergeist as a lover... that was enough to make her dizzy. He could alter reality, for Pete's sake, even if only temporarily. Off the scale… She shivered to think of him ever getting angry at her; she knew that he wouldn't ever hurt her, but the terrible fright that he could cause; well, it was formidable. No wonder that Juno felt she needed to be warned. And Lydia was no slouch in the frightening business, but she still remembered her own stark terror at the snake. And that was, as he had proudly bragged as he scuffed his nails against his dusty lapels, _nothin_', _babes_.

Still, he would be a blast at Halloween. She grinned deviously. People would come for hundreds of miles to be frightened out of their wits. And he understood her. How rare was that? He might be the only one in the world who took her for who she was, without complaint. She thought of Billy the Squid, and the dozens of other reasons she had never dated seriously. Kissing boys was fun, but kissing someone who was scared of you was, well, irritating. Who more appropriate for her than a man… well, he at least was, at one time, anyway, who would never be frightened of her, who would always know the subtext of her jokes. Who couldn't be photographed except as an orb or mist-twister. Probably come out striped.

One question remained. Would he be able to love her? Juno didn't think so; in fact, Juno believed he wasn't capable, and surely she would know. But Lydia couldn't forget the events of the night before. How he had come, and then let her take the credit. So unlike him. And then being stunned that she would want him to stay. Brushing out her hair. Staying with her when he had the freedom to escape while she was sleeping. Telling her how he had died. It wasn't like the ghost that she had known, not at all. Something had changed. Or he was just a really good actor. But which?

She decided that she wanted to know. Halloween was only a few weeks away. She resolved to make a decision by then. And perhaps throw a party of her own. She grinned, and had she looked in the mirror, she would have not have recognized herself, but him.


	11. Ghosted

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Ghosted**

Beetlejuice was pacing. He had been pacing from the moment he found himself back in his lair, having been stolen away from her without being able to press his advantage. His boots scuffed against the heavily worn floorboards, and his hands were clasped tightly across his chest, but his thoughts were focused on one single memory: that of her warm mouth barely touching him. How he had her, right there, in his arms, and she had sent him back before he could… before he could… what, exactly?

He cursed fluently and long. This had all been so simple in the beginning. He tugged off his heavy wool jacket and threw it into a dusty corner and paced in his shirtsleeves. He thought she would be easy pickings, so deep and dark and confused and gullible. And in the beginning, all she had to defend her were her friends, of which, admittedly, he had thought less of than he should have. But then she had grown up. That was the trouble with the living, wasn't it? They always had to change.

At first he had only looked in on her occasionally, between trouble-causing forays and opportunities to escape for a few hours. There were a few windows open to him, though not permanent, and he liked to slip out to feel the sun on his face, and hold the world by the tail, when he could. He remembered flashes… Lydia in a blue Easter dress in front of the mirror, scowling thunderously as her stepmother cooed and preened over her. And then later that same week, in a black trenchcoat and striped pants that looked very familiar. That was his first inkling that she hadn't forgotten him.

Her costumes became more skillful and ornate, and her parents got her a beautiful sewing machine that he had tried, unsuccessfully, to possess. He recalled that Babs had lectured him heartily that night, and he grinned toothily at the memory of her furious, motherly scolding. Ah well. So he had confined himself to watching. The photographs, the costumes, the art and books… Lydia's interests were far-reaching and deep. Philosophy, history, horror, and theater, mostly. She even researched pirates and created a beautiful buccaneer's costume for the upstate New York Renaissance Faire. Now that was a barrel of monkeys, he smiled to remember, haunting the fleet of Henry Morgan. What a creature to have at his side, she would have been…

Then she had gone to college, to Skidmore in Saratoga Springs. It was a good match for her, intellectually. She flourished, there, and as he spied on her more regularly, he found himself feeling a bit strange, like it was hard to take a full breath, ironically, when he saw her come into her room. As a girl of 16, she was merely interesting. At 18, she was pretty. At 20, she was… he closed his eyes, and felt her whisper kiss. At 20, she was a little beyond his ability to describe.

And somewhere in there, in the space of a day, he had lost track of what he was trying to do. When the opportunity had presented itself, he had swooped down to save her the trouble of having to bash that idiot's brains in. His goal was simple—if he could get her to fall for him, he was a free bird. She wouldn't put him back if she was infatuated with him; that was the theory anyway. It had worked before, however briefly. But then she had asked him to stay, and he had… all night, in fact. The imprint of her heat still ghosted against his skin, so much so that he thought it might be more than a memory. He sighed heartily and shook his head, and glancing up, caught himself in the mirror. Unlike in the Living World, the Netherworld had mirrors that actually frickin' worked.

He studied himself, not something he was given to do often. Wild-looking, gaunt, pale… deceased. His eyes were sunken, and the shape of his skull was perfectly outlined. The shirt he wore was of not-too-clean linen, and his breeches were a dark, old wool that hit just above heavy hobnail boots. Not exactly GQ material, although he hated to admit it. She illuminated him much too clearly for his comfort. Not to mention he didn't produce any heat, while she was so warm. What was he thinking? He just needed to hang around long enough to convince her not to put him back, and then get out of earshot and lay low for a while. Bring her presents every once in a while. What the hell did his wardrobe have to do with it? Or body temperature, for that matter?

"I haven't seen you look this serious since you were eaten by that sandworm."

He spun around, chagrined to have been caught in such obvious self-contemplation. Juno was sitting in his kitchen chair, smoking calmly and looking at him with a speculative twinkle. He glowered at her, but she remained unfazed.

"Don't you knock ever?" he grunted, but she didn't answer. "What? What do you want, grams? Because whatever it is, the answer's no."

"What are you playing at, Beetlejuice?" The words echoed in his head, in a different voice. His scowl darkened thunderously.

"I'm not playing. Am I not allowed to have friends?" But he knew how weak that sounded, and he closed his eyes briefly in annoyance at himself.

Juno leaned forward abruptly. "Friends? Is that what you are? Is that what you were doing in that poor girl's bed, grandson?" He looked up sharply, but she held up a wizened hand to stay him. "You are playing a dangerous game with Lydia's heart. I need not remind you that she is not unprotected." She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he found himself sitting heavily down next to her and reaching for the half-full whiskey bottle and a dirty glass. Drinking didn't help, really, but it made him feel better to have something to do with his hands. Besides strangling his grandmother.

"Juno." He stopped, and then tried again. "Lydia." This was stupid, how flustered he felt. "I don't know what game I'm playin' anymore. In fact, I don't think I'm playin' it at all. I think it's her game now." He knocked back a half full glass and savored the burn. Juno looked at him with a hint of surprise.

"There may be hope for you yet," she said with some satisfaction.

"Doubt it." But his lips quirked in a hint of a smile. He looked keenly at the old ghost next to him. "What did she say to you, about me?" His tone was cautiously nonchalant, but his eyes were anything but. Juno thought carefully.

"She thinks you have some goal in mind. She knows you want your freedom. But she is also fully aware of what you are capable of, and that is entirely your fault."

"You told her my gauss was off the scale," he said accusingly, grimly pleased to have something to shoot back at her.

"I told her the truth. Were you going to tell her how powerful you really are? In all your hamstrung glory?" Juno's voice became progressively louder, and Beetlejuice winced. "You were the one that tied your own leash, Beetlejuice! No one else. You might as well be your namesake for all the good it does you. You should have gone on when you had the chance." She sighed, weariness and disgust in equal parts. "And now you are on the brink of stealing a heart, a living heart, and bring her down with you."

"And would she go?" he whispered. "Would she go down with me?" His voice held a tremor she had never heard before. All the anger whooshed out of her in that instant. She reached up and stroked his wild hair.

"Maybe she would. The question is, will you allow her to?"

She stood, after a moment, and forgoing her customary dramatic exit, she walked haltingly to the door. He continued to stare grimly at the table, at his empty glass. When she turned back to him, she had only intended to say goodbye. But he looked so wretched that she took pity on him. A very small amount of pity. "If it is any consolation, she is extremely fond of you. And I believe that you've earned it honestly." She pursed her lips at him, and then she was gone, the click of her heels fading down the corridor. But he didn't move for a very long time, until the bottle was empty, and for many hours after that.


	12. Ouija Mirror

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

* * *

**Chapter 12: Ouija Mirror**

It was dark before Lydia got home. Her room was empty, but Beth had left her a note on the kitchenette counter. It read, "This room is giving me the creeps, Lyddie. I feel like I can't breathe. Should we call the hall director to make sure the gas pipes are fine? Anyhoo, going out—ta! Don't wait up, smooches." Lydia narrowed her eyes, and turned to the mirror. It did seem a little gloomy, and she could feel him, just under the surface of reality. No wonder her roommate had been spooked.

"Beetlejuice, did you scare her off on purpose?" She grinned, but then her heart skipped a beat when the mirror fogged, and a long streak appeared in the condensation. One. She recovered quickly, although her heart was still racing. "Oh no, we need to talk. And I talk better when you aren't trying to distract me. So, you can talk using the mirror?"

The mirror paused for a moment, and then fogged over again. _Maybe. Afraid of me, Lydia?_

"No! No. Afraid of myself might be more accurate," she mumbled, but he must have heard her, because she felt a chill at her neck.

_Can't resist me, eh?_

She smiled. "Keep that up, and you might find that I can." She rinsed out the coffee pot from the night before, and took her time making up a new pot, and washing out the cups. The one he had used, she noticed, had stripes on it now. She rolled her eyes in amusement, and set it back for him. And then she reconsidered, and rinsed it out a second time and filled it with black coffee. He wasn't with her, but she found herself wishing that he was. And knowing that she had the key. She settled into the chair in front of the mirror. "I feel like I'm holding a séance," she murmured wryly. In response, a huge Ouija board materialized just inside the mirror, and a planchette, striped, of course. It spelled out _I A M T H E D E V I L H A H A H A_

Lydia giggled. "You wish."

The Quija board vanished, and the mirror fogged again. _Not really. Too much paperwork._

Lydia held her hand up to the glass. "B… I have a proposition for you."

_I thought you said you weren't gonna marry me. _A jagged broken heart was sketched in below that, and she smiled.

"I'm not proposing to you. I just had an idea." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I want to get to know you better, but I am a little baffled as to how. So I thought that you might want to go to a Halloween party with me. Here. On campus. But you have to promise that you won't scare anybody to death or hurt people or… or turn into a snake, or anything." She took a deep breath, realizing that she was on the brink of babbling. Why did talking to him make her lose her composure so thoroughly?

The mirror was empty for a moment. Then it fogged, but no words came. She waited, biting her lower lip. Finally, it fogged up. _You look cute when you chew your lip. _Lydia brought her hand to her mouth, and then gave the mirror a dark look. _Okay, okay. You want me to come to a party with you? I will. _She smiled, relief flooding through her. But he wasn't done. _On one condition._

"What? Are we talking terms again?"

_I always talk terms, Lyds. I'll go with you, if you come somewhere with me._

Her eyes narrowed. "Where?"

_It's a surprise._

"I don't always like your kind of surprise, Beetlejuice." The mirror seemed to grin, as a second streak joined the first.

_You want me to come out, dontcha? You miss me._ But she refused to answer, not trusting her voice. _S'what I thought. So, whaddaya think? I go with you if you go with me?_

Lydia pondered for a moment, but all she was really thinking of was how his fingertips had felt against her jaw. She nodded, wondering if it was her heart or her sense that was making this decision. She thought she knew. "When?"

It was the mirror's turn to ponder. _When's your next day off?_

"Last class on Friday is over at noon, and then I'm free till Monday morni—till Sunday night." Good lord, he had rattled her. She felt his smile trail across the tops of her shoulders, and she shivered. Was it getting warmer in her room?

_Friday. That's a long time, Lyds. _ And his name was on the tip of her tongue, and it would be so easy. She struggled to master herself.

"Friday, Beej…B." She heard his chuckle openly now, and flushed. How her body wanted to betray her. "I have to do homework now, okay?"

There was a long pause. _Sure, babe. I'll be expectin your call. _And then, just below, her name in soft curling script. _Lydia_. She collapsed her head on her folded arms, just breathing for a moment. The only thing she knew is that she couldn't stay in the room. The temptation of him was just too strong. She rose shakily and threw her books in her bag, and left to find a quiet place to study. Without any mirrors.


	13. Haunted

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

**AN**: Saratoga Springs really is haunted! And the Twilight Zone ep mentioned is #99 _Something in the Walls _of the series done in the mid '80's.

* * *

**Chapter 13: Haunted**

Sun rises and sun sets. Stars turn and spiral and fade. Day fades to night to day. It was driving her crazy. Lydia had never thrown herself so wholeheartedly into her work as she did that week. By Wednesday, she had a paper written for Art History that wasn't due until the end of term, and had completed sketches for the next three weeks for Illustration, her least favorite class. English Composition had a paper due on the subject of her choice, so she found herself searching local hauntings in Saratoga Springs. And the university library was a gold mine. The Olde Bryan Inn was a hotspot, it seemed, for a ghost named Eleanor, and near the Inn was High Rock Hill, also notorious for ancient hauntings, even in Native American legends. The name Madame Jumel came up quite often, and in a dusty old book that hadn't seen the light of day for many years, she found a reference to sightings of Revolutionary War soldiers in various places throughout the town. She took notes carefully, and noted things she wanted to ask Beetlejuice about. Surely no one would know more than he would.

It was late, and Lydia sighed and stretched languorously over the back of her chair. She was startled by a snapping sound, and looked back at the table to find that her pencil had broken in two. By itself. "B…" she began dangerously. The pencil jumped back together hastily, and then as an afterthought, was wound around with what looked suspiciously like duct tape. She giggled. "B, what are you doing here? I left the room to avoid you. It's not easy when you're invisible."

A chill crept down her spine. "_You can fix that, babe…"_ But she shook her head.

"No way. We'll have to wait till Friday." She watched suspiciously as the pencil drifted across the table and something tugged out a blank sheet of paper from her portfolio. After a moment, the pencil began to outline a shape. Working almost faster than she could see, with the point being sharpened without pause, the wood shavings curling away even as the picture formed, the invisible artist sketched a face. Her face, she realized, flushing. "B, we aren't alone here, you know." But she could see her own dark eyes forming, and the prominent bones of her thin cheeks. In the drawing, her lips were parted, and her eyes wide and gentle. Then, as suddenly as he began, the picture was done, and it drifted to rest in front of her. She gazed at herself, her own lips parted now. "Is that how you see me?"

But there was no answer. Only a tug through her hair, as if he was combing through it again. She closed her eyes and suppressed a burst of heat that only had one name. This was becoming impossible. He had every advantage but one; it seemed that they were tied tight enough that he was able to haunt her, even when she hadn't said his name. Her one and only advantage was that he couldn't come all the way through without her permission. But it was weak, and she felt it. Felt the thin screen between her world and his bend and stretch, like that episode out of that show Twilight Zone. Except that woman thought she was crazy, and Lydia knew that _she_ was crazy. She rose, tucking the sketch into her portfolio, and left the library, hoping beyond hope that she would sleep tonight without a struggle.

And Beetlejuice, left standing behind her vacated chair, contemplated the question she had asked him. _Is this how you see me?_ He could still feel the cool weight of her hair on his fingers, and he began to seriously question his own tattered sanity. Why had he drawn that? It left him feeling terribly vulnerable, which was very unusual and disturbing. He had done more thinking in this week than he had done in a few centuries, and it made his head hurt. And it made the whiskey disappear. He needed a break. Friday was two days away. Until then, he was not going to think about her. He snapped his fingers, and the air that had surrounded him collapsed with a pop. A girl laden with books walked right through where he had just been, and broke out in goosebumps. For weeks afterwards, she swore that the library was haunted, and showed anyone who was interested where the cold spot had been.


	14. On a Friday…

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

* * *

**Chapter 14: On a Friday… **

Friday dawned bright and cheerful, the 13th of October. Lydia showered nervously, almost forgetting to cover her mirror with a towel, although, irritatingly, more often than not she found it on the floor when she stepped out of the shower. Beth had taken to avoiding their room almost completely, opting instead to stay with her boyfriend, which was both convenient and terrifying. On Thursday they had met for lunch, and Lydia had told her that the HD had asked them to stay out of the room until she checked into everything. Which was mostly true. Things had been quiet, for which she was half grateful and half sorry, and she slept and dreamed in the absence of him.

Class was English Comp, so she spent the two hours in the library continuing her research on the hauntings in Saratoga Springs. She hoped that Beetlejuice would be able to answer her questions tonight. Dread mixed with excitement warred in her belly until she thought she was going to be sick, and she passed on lunch altogether. It was time.

Back in her room, she set down her books and turned to the mirror, which she could swear was grinning at her. She smiled, too, and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "Well, here goes! Beetlejuice…" The mirror fogged, and one streak formed on the glass.

"Beetlejuice…" Two. Was that her heart pounding? Maybe she should have eaten, because she felt a little dizzy. Deep breath, Lydia. "Beetlejuice."

A deep chuckle raised the hairs on the back of her neck. That happened a lot around him. The mirror stayed blank, though, and she wondered why he was taking his sweet time. Until she felt his hands close around her upper arms. "Miss me?" His voice rumbled in her ear, and her eyes closed involuntarily.

"No." But she was smiling, and she knew he could see it in the mirror. She turned to face him. "You never left."

He looked offended, his brow crinkling and lips pursing. "I did too leave."

"No, you didn't. Unless you count following me to the library. I can feel you when you're here, you know." He quirked an amused eyebrow at her, and she blushed furiously and ducked her head. "You know what I mean, dammit, B. I don't think I need to be any more off-balance than I already am."

He brushed her hair back behind her ear, a wicked smile playing about his lips. Her mind prodded her frantically… back up, Lydia. Step back, c'mon girl. But her feet refused to obey. It was he that stepped back, and then she could breathe again. She attempted 'casual.' "So what happened to your coat? And that shirt looks…" she peered at him more closely. "…clean. –er." It was his turn to look embarrassed.

"I, um, well, you know, Thursday was laundry day, and…" But she was laughing, and felt stronger for it.

"You washed your shirt for me?" She fingered the material, and it was heavy and cool: fine linen. "I'm honored."

"You should be," he muttered gruffly. But he looked pleased that she had noticed. He cast a critical eye over her scuffed jeans and tshirt and frowned. "You got anythin' a little more… um…"

"Where are we going?" She prodded him with a finger. "Tell me and I'll know how to dress." He ducked away from her teasing, and walked over to her closet. The doors flew open and all her clothing came cascading out in a rush. "What are you doing?" she cried. Pants, jeans, shirts, and skirts swirled around her in a colorful tornado. He reached out and plucked a red skirt, the one that came to just above her knees, and a black top that fitted her snugly, and then tossed them at her. Suddenly she was wearing them. She squeaked, startled, and he cocked his head at her, daring her to disagree. She scowled at him, and stomped over to the closet to get her knee high boots. He frowned in return as she grabbed a shawl as well.

"You know, you shouldn't be afraid to show off a little, Lyds. You don't know how pretty you are." This last was said with earnest seriousness, so much so that the shawl drooped to the floor in her hands. He grinned and tugged it out of her hands. "That's settled, then. Besides, it's warm where we're goin'!"

"Where are we going?" But he impatiently tied up her laces for her with a flick of his fingers and grabbed her hand. She allowed herself to be pulled against him, and her body reacted immediately to the intimate contact. He slid his arms around her and she hugged him close, her hands clutching at the dense fabric over his narrow back. His hand came up to press her head against his shoulder, her mouth turned in against his throat, and she felt his lips touch her ear, sending a violent tremor through her. A gasp escaped her before she could get a grip on herself.

"Don't let go." And then her world shook violently and fractured into a hundred thousand shards.


	15. …Fell all this Mischance

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

* * *

**Chapter 15: …Fell all this Mischance**

Transportation by poltergeist was never, ever going to catch on, except possibly as an extreme sport. Lydia held on to Beetlejuice with the strength of sheer terror, and he had her wrapped up as close as he could possibly get her, but the terrible storm of their passing fought to tear them apart nonetheless. She tried to scream, but couldn't find the air, couldn't fill her lungs. And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over, and she filled her lungs and let loose a howl that shook the skies. "WHAT WAS THAT?"

He rocked her gently, attempting to loosen the deathgrip she had on him. He stroked her hair. "Sorry, babe. If I'd warned you, you would have been twice as scared." She came to herself at last, shoved him away, spun in the grass, and fell gracelessly at his feet. He kneeled next to her and rocked back on his heels, allowing her the time she needed. After a few minutes, her breathing steadied, and she allowed him a small smile, for which he was extremely grateful. "That was the scariest thing I've ever done. What did we just do?"

"That, my dear, was a wormhole. Like it?"

"No." She scowled at him, but with no heat behind it, and he flashed her a toothy grin. She snorted delicately and allowed him to lift her to her feet. "That's the last time I let you hug me without making you sign a contract first." He was all innocence, something he was really bad at, and she giggled despite herself. "So where are we?"

"Dunno." She looked at him, shocked, but then realized he was teasing her. So she smacked him instead, but her hand went right through him. Damn convenient for him, she thought. He looked smug, but didn't comment. "Right." He spun around and sniffed the air like a bloodhound. "Thisaway."

They were on top of a tall, windswept hill and in the distance, Lydia saw the vivid blue of a tropical ocean. It was very warm, and she was glad she hadn't brought her shawl, even though she felt a little exposed. Beetlejuice beckoned to her and held out his arm in the semblance of a gentleman, and she cautiously took it, blinking a little nervously at him. "No more wormholes?"

He shook his head. "Not until we have to go home." At this, her knees quivered, but she settled with hoping the evening turned out nice and long. He grinned a very cheeky grin and strolled down the hill, tugging her gently along beside him.

"Where are we going, B?" By this time she was just trying to surprise him into an answer, but he started to whistle off key instead. She bumped against him with her hip, and he pinned her arm with one hand and reached around with the other to tuck her in closed, so that she had to lean on him for balance. "This is—awkward, B," she grunted in protest, but he didn't even look at her this time.

"I've had six hundred years to practice walkin', Lyds. Catchin' me off balance would be… rare." But he loosened his tight hold, leaving an arm around her, hand resting on her hip. This felt familiar to her, and she smiled to herself. Odd that it felt so familiar. But the good kind of odd.

Over a rise, Lydia saw a huge plantation house perched on the side of the hill. She glanced curiously at her strange companion, but he blithely ignored her. They walked through a garden gate and into a small gazebo. A table was laid out with fruit and drink, all sorts of things. And sitting at the table was a beautiful woman in a long old fashioned green dress. Lydia stared again, and then made a small sound of disbelief. Beetlejuice tugged her along, and unable to suppress a grin, bowed to the lady. "Eleanor, this is Miss Lydia Deetz." He turned to her then, and, with a gleam of unmistakable triumph, said, "Lyds, this is Eleanor, the ghost of the Olde Bryan Inn. Surprised you, didn't I?" Lydia could only nod, her mouth still hanging open. He reached up and gently tucked his fingertip under her chin. "Thought you might have some questions." Lydia looked shyly at the great lady.

"BeeJay tells me, Lydia, that you were curious about my story. I'll tell you whatever you would like to know." She smiled a kind, welcoming smile, and Lydia sat down next to her, her eyes sparkling.

"This is such an honor! I've been reading about you, but all the accounts are so sparse!"

"Ah, but the establishment is very old, and many people have come through those doors. I have to be careful, of course, because I will not be the one to provide proof of the existence of the Afterlife. Bryan and I have both been very careful."

"Bryan?"

"The original owner, the first settler at the spring. He wanted to come, but could not be here. Business." She said that the same way that women say the word 'men,' when they are fondly exasperated. As Lydia settled into the conversation, Beetlejuice felt rather pleased with himself. He grabbed a bottle of old Caribbean rum and a few apples, settled himself in a large canvas chair, and watched them like a contented cat, slowly draining the bottle glass by glass.

When it was time for dinner, Lydia was glowing, and Beetlejuice was three sheets to the wind, which is to say, very much like he usually was. Eleanor was a wonderful storyteller, and kept them both entertained with stories of the Revolutionary war, which was before her time, and the Industrialization, which was after. They ate cold chicken and cucumbers and tomatoes, and Lydia even had a sip or two of rum, which she proclaimed to be delicious, to Beetlejuice's delight. Finally, Eleanor turned to Lydia and said, in her musical voice, "Now Lydia, has BeeJay told you our history, then?" Beetlejuice jumped up, teetering a little off balance, and began to protest, but Eleanor wagged a finger at him.

He appealed to Lydia with a pathetic puppy dog look, but she just grinned at him, and looked back at Eleanor. "Please share!" Beetlejuice reached for her hand and squeezed it to get her attention. His skin seemed a little warmer than usual, with the heat of the sun and her glass of rum running pleasantly through her. She beamed laughingly at him, and he lost focus for just a moment, and then remembered what it was that he wanted to say.

"Aw, babe, that's all ancient history. Eleanor probably doesn't even remember it right."

"Ah, but I do, BeeJay. You just don't want me to tell her. Think it might put you in a less flattering light, eh?" Lydia laughed outright at this.

"Eleanor, I promise you that I have seen B at his absolute worst. In fact, he tried to trick me into marrying him, only a few days after we first met!" Beetlejuice dropped his head into his free hand at this revelation, as both women burst out laughing. He mumbled something about going inside the house, but Lydia wouldn't let go of his hand. He decided that he could endure this punishment, if he could just continue to hold her hand. So he subsided in a magnificent sulk as Eleanor began her narrative.

"Well, you see this house. It is beautiful, is it not?" Lydia nodded enthusiastically. "When my time was nearly up, I was trying to decide whether to stay or go. Since I had established an acceptable Class 1 Haunting, I could choose to stay on, and I did enjoy it so much. Well, BeeJay was hanging around New York at the time; he has always been particularly fond of that area, and I knew who he was. He had quite a… reputation. This was before his second meeting with the Administration, and he was not… quite as you see him now, but still very strong. And handsome." Beetlejuice looked pained and faded invisible, although Lydia could still feel his hand in hers, twitching slightly. I became quite fond of him, and assisted him more than once in a time of trouble."

"You locked me in the broom closet!" He whined, outraged. "That's not 'help'. That's imprisonment!"

"It was for your own good, BeeJay, as I'm sure you remember the governor's daughter? You could have been exorcised for that, you know."

"It was just a joke," he muttered sulkily. Eleanor smoothly continued, a sparkle in her eye.

"So after that danger was over, he kindly suggested that I needed a vacation." She laughed delicately, and Lydia was amazed to understand that this woman had thwarted Beetlejuice in one of his own schemes. She became twice as glad to know her, just as Beetlejuice looked twice as anxious to leave. He was casting about for an exit, but Eleanor ignored him. "He had come across this house, which had been recently vacated by a quiet gentleman ghost who had chosen to move on. And he politely suggested that I take it. And to both our surprise, I think, I accepted." She sighed softly and looked around her. "As you can see, it is so beautiful. I still travel to New England to keep up appearances, but this is my true home."

"Yeah, well, it suits you, El." He was back, if a bit sulky around the eyes, still.

"You know you are always welcome here. And you too, Lydia, if you don't mind the traveling. I have heard that it is rather… unprecedented… for mortals." At this she fixed Beetlejuice with a very firm, disapproving glare. Lydia stared at her, and then at him, and at the guilt that leeched off of him like fumes, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

"You! You didn't know if it would work? You … this was the first… Beetlejuice!"

"Whoa, hey! Enough with the B-word—no need to get nasty, now. You made it just fine, right? Well?" But Lydia was staring at him with angry disbelief etched on her features. Eleanor tutted him, and rose.

"Ah, my friend, you always had a way with the ladies." She leaned down and kissed Lydia on the cheek. "He would not harm you, Lydia. I think you know that. But he is wild and untamed, still after all this time. No one would even dare risk it, but he can do things that we most of us only dream about. So take it on faith that he knew you would be perfectly safe. Next time, perhaps he will let you make up your own mind about things." She straightened, a tall kindly figure against the bright blue sky. "You are always welcome here, my dear. And now I must go. The owners return, and while we can stay, you cannot." She clapped her hands and the banquet disappeared. Lydia stood and walked out of the gate, casting a look of hurt approbation behind her. Beetlejuice rose to follow, uncertain, and Eleanor took him by the shoulder. "She is lovely, you know. And smart. And strong. Very unusual combination for you." He shook his head.

"Dunno what she sees in me."

Eleanor leaned close to him, and kissed his cheek as well. "I do." And then she was gone, faded into the afternoon sun like an old photograph. There was nothing left for him to do but to chase after the girl that most likely never wanted to see him again.


	16. Glow

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

**AN: **For WitchyWanda, a bit of the technical stuff. I am not a ghost hunter, but I love ghost stories, and as with every hobby, there is expensive equipment to buy. As you'll see, tho, it won't do any good with our favorite fiend.

* * *

**Chapter 16: Glow**

He found her at the top of the hill, within the palm grove. Although he could feel her like a blazing beacon, and could have gone immediately to her, he resisted startling her, and instead made lots of noise stomping through the underbrush, just so she would know he was coming. Some terrible fear gripped what excuse he had for a heart, but he was determined to see it through. Well, he kinda had to, since he was her ride, after all. When he approached her, his throat seized up a bit, and it was all he could do to kneel down beside her. A moment gave him the courage, for her back was still turned to him, and she was gazing out at the sea.

"Lyds, I… what Eleanor said was true. You were… are completely safe with ole' BJ. I would never be so stupid as to risk you."

"I know," Lydia murmured.

"I mean, I know I can be crazy sometimes, but… what?" He shifted to peer at her, and she turned her head and tucked it against her shoulder to gaze back at him.

"I know that I'm safe with you." She paused. "But how did you know it?" Her eyes were dark and intense, and he felt a little like a bug on a pin. He shifted uncomfortably, and settled cross-legged in the stiff grass underneath the shade of the palms.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Well, as Juno laid out for you, I've got a bit of a glow. A big vapor trail. In human terms, they call it an EMF: electromagnetic field, you know? Shows up as an orb in those stupid photographs." She nodded carefully. He cleared his throat again and forged on. "And the gauss, just a measurement of how much flux I put off. They use these weak little meters that are good for testin' batteries and such." He snorted derisively, and then sighed, refocusing on her. "So it was just a matter of makin' sure you were inside my glow." He took her hands then, hanging on to her as if to transfer his sincerity. "And you were totally inside, I promise! I wouldn't risk a hair on your pretty head." He attempted a winning smile, but it came out very toothy.

She stared gently at him for a long time, and then gracefully lifted herself slightly and slid into his arms, settling in his lap. "Am I inside your glow, now?" Her voice was equally gentle. So why did he feel as if his insides were being tugged out? He pulled her a little more tightly against him, her head on his shoulder. He could feel the heat of her breath against his throat.

"Are now." The truth was, she had been even when she was sitting a few feet from him. But what she didn't know…

"So how much flux do you put off, B?"

He looked uncomfortable, pondering whether to tell her the truth. Oh, hell, Juno would probably let it slip at a frickin' dinner party or something. "You remember Mt. St. Helens?"

"Sure," she said, a little drowsily. "It erupted in 1980, didn't it?" He nodded, and then to her surprise, leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"I don't know why I'm tellin' you this," he admitted, his voice gruff and uncertain. Her eyes grew very wide, and her jaw dropped. She shifted to stare up at him.

"You mean… that was you?"

"It was a bet! We didn't even think it would work," he began defensively. "Barry, if I recall—always makin' trouble. Anyway, we just wanted to get away for a while, and went to Washington to start a few stories circulatin', and then Barry dared me to try and get the old crater to smoke a bit, just to start another rumor." His green eyes lost focus. "So I went down into that cold dead hole and just let loose everythin' I had. One minute my own private little electrical storm, and the next… the crater was talkin' to me. Everythin' happened so fast. And it was… amazing." He was lost in the memory of it. "I've never seen such beautiful gold red fire as that, Lyds, straight from the belly of the earth." A smile floated around his mouth such that she had never seen, of wonder and childlike awe. After a moment, he came back to himself, and looked down at her. "Anyway, Juno was furious. She made me take charge of those that died." He sobered. "We had sent out warnings, and everything, but they were ignored. Humans, whaddaya do? But after all, they were pretty cool with it. Who gets to haunt an active volcano nowaways?"

"Who, indeed?" To his surprise, she did not look angry. Her fingers stroked over the sharp contours of his face, leaving warmth on his skin and stoking a fire in his breast. "Wild and untamed, still…"

"At your service," he whispered against her cheek, and his voice shook, so very slightly.

Lydia would never be able to account for the distance that vanished between them in that moment. One heartbeat she was savoring his reply, and the next she was kissing him, her lips open against his, tasting rum and ozone and something uniquely him, beyond the leather and neglect, like golden fire rising from the belly of the earth. And then his long fingers were tangled in her hair, his head tilting to gentle and deepen, and gods, consume her, and damn the consequences. She squeezed shut her eyes and drank him in until her skin was tingling with dancing energy, until she felt in her breast the tremendous heat that would set off a volcano. He broke the kiss with a sharp breath, then, and she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with that same childlike awe. She followed his gaze to her hands and saw that her skin was glowing in the twilight haze. "Gods, B…" she whispered, and he smiled at her with an immense tenderness.

"Say my name, Lydia," he murmured huskily, tilting his head to kiss her jaw. "Please"

A burst of heat exploded inside her at that rare word from his lips. "Beetlejuice." His arms tightened around her, and he rocked her against him, like he had so many times before, except this was different. It felt like possession.

"At your service, Lydia."

They stayed on that hill until the sun had long gone below the wide horizon, resting in each other's company in awed silence. Beetlejuice seemed for the moment to be completely cured of the fidgets, and Lydia, curled up against his breast, drifted in and out of dreams. Not until the breeze turned cold did he finally stir. "There was more I wanted to show you, Lyds, if you'll travel with me again."

She looked sleepily up at him, her lips grazing his cheek. "Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to go home, B."

"Oh." He frowned, and she giggled.

"With you. Come back with me."

"Oh! Well, I supposed I could manage that." He looked pleased rather than smug, and she marveled at the subtle change. She climbed out of his lap, and held his hand to pull him up, realizing at the same moment that her assistance was completely unnecessary. He grinned toothily at her, and she grinned back at him, and she tucked herself into his embrace for the jump. And then he reached down and tilted back her chin, and kissed her sweetly, and deep, and when the tearing winds tried to rip her away from him, she found they didn't bother her nearly as much as the first time.

Still, when they reappeared in her dorm room, she felt woozy, and stumbled against him, but he didn't reach to right her immediately, and she muzzily realized the lights were on. "Did we leave the lights on, B?"

"Um."

Lydia looked where he was staring, and there, sitting on the bed with an expression suspended between astonishment and terror, was Beth.


	17. Delicate Negotiations

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

* * *

**Chapter 17: Delicate Negotiations**

Beth was quivering, her mouth hanging open, her hands up as if to ward off what she had seen. Lydia took a step towards her and Beth scrambled back against the wall. "Beth! It's me, Lydia! It's okay." Lydia wondered if Beth could see her strange companion, or if it was just her sudden appearance that had scared the bejeezus out of her. But Beth just shook her head numbly.

"Where the hell did you come from? How did you…?" Lydia drew a deep breath, and attempted a smile. So she couldn't see him. That was a bit of a relief, at least. Sort of. Beetlejuice meandered over to the counter, thankfully somewhere where his spectral weight wouldn't leave an impression, and looked studiously at his none-too-clean nails. Lydia raised an eyebrow at him, but he shrugged, feeling a bit helpless. His entering into it would just scare her more.

With an ironic smirk, Lydia turned back to her terrified roommate. "Travel by poltergeist is not something you should try, Beth. Take my word for it." And Lydia slumped into her chair. Beth slowly eased her posture after a moment, when nothing jumped out of the walls.

"So it's you, after all? You with Billy, and the creepy feeling in the room? And the cold spots in the library?" She leaned forward a little. "Are you a… a witch, Lyddie?"

Lydia broke out into mildly hysterical giggles at the thought. "No, not me, and no, I'm not a witch." She took a deep breath. "Do you really want to know?" Beth looked curiously at her for a moment, the fear receding in the face of her roommate's blasé attitude, and then nodded. Lydia cast her eyes back to Beetlejuice, and gave him an imploring look. He sighed theatrically, and straightened his shirt collar, and then stepped into the visible spectrum. Lydia saw the subtle rippling of the light as it curved around him rather than through him, and she thought he had never looked more beautiful. He kept his eyes fixed on her, green and full of meaning, and she received the message as if he had spoken. _I'm only doin' this for you._

They were both interrupted from their thoughts with a small squeak from the bed. Beth was sitting perfectly still, shoulders rounded and both hands over her mouth. "Oh. my. God. You're a ghost."

"Poltergeist, actually," he corrected her genially. Lydia gritted her teeth, but he refrained from levitating anything or breaking coffee cups as a demonstration.

"Is he… safe?" Beth's voice was squeaky with disbelief. Lydia grinned.

"No! But yes, for the moment." The thought amused her immensely, and she couldn't help a chuckle at his expense.

"M'not a dog," Beetlejuice muttered sulkily. But Beth was getting up off the bed, and she crept carefully over to him and reached out to touch his sleeve. He squinted at her, and Lydia felt a hot rush of what could only be identified as jealousy. She fought it down in confusion.

"You're cold."

"Dead!" he agreed, cheerfully. He leaned over to Lydia. "Is this how she is normally?"

"B, she's had a shock. You're not exactly an everyday occurrence," she said with gentle reproof. He gave her that feral grin that crawled across her shoulders and sunk into her belly with prickling heat. She breathed in and out carefully, her gaze sinking to the gap where his collar was undone, to avoid his intense and disconcerting eyes. His cool skin glowed a bit in the dim halogen light, but with a translucent blue cast. She wondered if that was his choice or if his spectral body was as unalterable as her own. Of course, she had seen him change form on several occasions, but never for long. He never showed the strain, regardless. Eventually she became aware of the silence in the room, and turned to see Beth looking speculatively from one to the other.

"You're in love, aren't you?" Lydia swallowed, and Beetlejuice raised both eyebrows, completely taken by surprise. But Beth narrowed her eyes at Lydia and nodded. "You are. I can see it all from here."

"You can?" they both said at once, and then looked uncertainly at each other.

Beth pointed to Beetlejuice. "You saved her from Billy the Squid. You're the one that scared him half out of his mind. You know he had to go home for the rest of the term?" Lydia started guiltily at the same time that Beetlejuice beamed proudly. But then he saw her expression, and attempted to sober his own. Beth continued. "And then the room, how it felt, it was you hanging around so that you could see her, wasn't it? The library, too. And she's been so dazed, as if she hasn't been getting any sleep." It was his turn to look guilty.

"Well, I, um, she was going to get some sleep tonight. Honest." He stared at the floor, flustered.

"I'll just bet." Beth looked smugly at them both. "You didn't expect me to be here, did you, then?" She shook her head. "I always knew you were an unusual girl, Lyddie, but this is really beyond my ken."

In familiar territory now, and away from the yawning chasm that was the possibility that she was in love with a dangerous poltergeist that had terrorized her family for years, Lydia relaxed in her chair, and tilted her head back, stretching her shoulders and yawning. "You have no idea, Beth. I've known B since I was sixteen. We've been enemies longer that… friends." Beetlejuice shifted beside her, and she realized he had come to a decision. Amazing, how expressive his body language was, for not having a body. He leaned over her and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Second time tonight, and likely an equally bad idea, I'm gonna let you girls chat." He made for the mirror a little desperately, but Lydia stayed him with a hand on the hem of his shirt.

"Where are you going?" At her questioning tone, he turned and gave her a casual look that failed to mask his confusion. Clearly, he was as discomfited as she. She faltered a little. "My reputation hinges on your not causing a mess on my dime," she finished with some asperity, trying to make him smile. But he only twisted his lip at her thoughtfully, and she felt lost. She desperately wanted him to stay, but he was leaving her anyway.

"I promise not to send anymore frat boys home to their mommies, okay, Lyds? I just need some… some time." And a lot more to drink, he thought grimly. But she just nodded sadly, knowing that he was going to leave even if she asked him not to.

"Just, don't go far?" Lydia said, with a hesitant smile she didn't feel. He looked at her, his expression unreadable, for a long moment as if trying to memorize her, and then was gone. The temperature of the room went up perceptibly at once.

"Well." Beth's voice startled her back from her reverie. "So, tell me everything, Lyddie, because I can see you're about to follow after him." Beth sat back down on her bed with most of her normal cheerfulness back in place, amazing girl that she was. Lydia looked away from where he had been, shook herself, and then smiled wanly. Beth was right—he needed processing time, and so did she. Had he stayed, well, she didn't know whether to feel regret or relief at the temporary separation. Of course it was temporary. She settled into the chair and cast back her troubled mind to the first time she had set eyes on the country.

"It all started when we moved from the city to Connecticut, to this old farmhouse on top of a hill…"


	18. Winner Takes None

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

**AN: **Up to this point, i've had Coldplay on loop. Tonight i switched to Radiohead. Fear ;)

Thank you to my patient and tenacious readers and reviwers. I am trying not to distract myself, but have a whole queue of stories to relish when i get this done. You're all awesome!

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**Chapter 18: Winner Takes None **

"… and then this huge sandworm came crashing out of the ceiling with Barbara on its back, and swallowed him whole. I think I still have the dress—it was this gawdawful poppy red, and gods, the lace." She showed Beth her finger, where a simple but heavy ring of gold glimmered. "This was the ring. It fell to the floor when he was... when he left, and I kept it. " They both stared at it for a moment, as if it represented some crucial proof to the truth of the story. Then Beth looked up at her and smiled with satisfaction.

"And now he's been trying to get you back." She shook her head for what must have been the hundredth time that night. "Of all the people in the world, Lydia, you are definitely the most likely to make a poltergeist fall in love with you."

Lydia groaned, not knowing how to take that, exactly. "He's not in love with me. He just wants me to be so infatuated with him that I can't put him back. Which seems to have worked, dammit."

"I've seen love, dear. And that look that he gave you at the last, just before he left? That was love. He's scared of losing you."

"Since when do you know so much about love? Or ghosts?" Lydia leaned back, feigning nonchalance, but betrayed by her heart thudding against her ribcage.

"I may not know a great deal about ghosts, but I know about men. And didn't you say you have a way of testing it? Try to put him back, and if it doesn't work, then you know." She clapped her hands on her knees, as if that solved everything. 

"That's horrible! What if it did?" Lydia paused, a shadow of worry creeping into her face. "What if it didn't?" She glanced involuntarily at the mirror, but it wasn't listening. At least, not obviously. "I need some sleep, Beth. Please don't wake me until Sunday."

"You'll have to arrange that yourself, luv. I'm leaving tomorrow morning for a trip to the city, and won't be back till Monday night. You'll have to carry on without me, I'm afraid." She smiled, and Lydia scowled, and fell back on the bed. But sleep was long in coming, and more than once her hand stroked over the bedcovers without finding what it sought.

Beetlejuice didn't intend to eavesdrop. Really. He intended to drink, heavily, and then go cause some trouble somewhere far far away. But that damnable girl's words were etched into his eyelids. In love. He snorted gracelessly. Lyds was a great girl, but love?

The memory of her delicate body in his arms washed over him, but he shook himself. Hard. And what did he care, anyway? Wasn't this what he had wanted all along? She couldn't bear to send him back. He had won. "Congratu-frickin-lations, asshole." he muttered to himself, pouring another whiskey.

But the loneliness closed in on him, and it was only a matter of time before he found himself drifting closer to the mirror. As he followed Lydia's narrative, he found himself smiling fondly. Nasty customer, for sure. And Otho in that suit, that was priceless. And his abortive attempt to 'shanghai' Lydia. It had certainly been worth a try. But then he shook his head—had he heard correctly? She was holding up her finger to show Beth, and suddenly he felt like he'd caught on fire. Because that was his ring. She was wearing his ring.

She was wearing his ring.

Dumbfounded, he sat unmoving, listening helplessly to the rest of their conversation. Lydia had pegged him to the board with her scathing remark on what he had wanted from her. She couldn't believe that he could love her. Juno couldn't believe that he could love her. And he? What did he believe? And Beth did have a point. If Lydia tried to put him back and couldn't, he would know. They would both know. And he was of the same mind as Lydia on that one—awful either way.

For a long time after the lights had gone out, he watched her sleep. Her skin still glowed slightly with the gauss she had absorbed from him. The memory of that kiss threatened to make him sentimental, and he furiously hunted for another bottle amidst the flotsam and jetsam of his dark lair. Not that it helped, but it kept him from doing something stupid. Like porting right through that mirror and into her arms, and holding her as she slept. Or worse, waking her up.

He must have dozed off at last, still propped in the chair, when something flickered against his subconscious. His eyes opened blearily to a small piece of paper stuck to the mirror. It was on the other side, where Lydia must have fixed it to the glass. He could still see the trace of her aura glow pressed in a thumbprint against the tape. The note was handwritten. _I had a really good time tonight, B. Sorry I didn't get to tell you. Will you have lunch with me tomorrow? Yours, _ _Lydia_

Yours. Lydia. His. He closed his eyes, and then fogged the mirror with a flick of his fingers and traced a tiny heart below her note. Yours. Gods help him.


	19. Fall

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

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**Chapter 19: Fall**

Saturday dawned a beautifully crisp fall day, and from her bed Lydia could feel the cool rattled breathing of the brilliantly colored oak and maple leaves. Beth had left a half an hour before, and Lydia had heard her go, but hadn't stirred. She hadn't slept at all until she had roused herself and written Beetlejuice a note, and then, her conscience eased, she had finally dreamed of being in the heart of a volcano, tucked within a familiar glow. She got up now and padded over to the mirror. Even in the dim light, underneath her note, she could see that he had drawn a tiny little heart. She smiled. That would be a yes.

After a shower, windows wide open and music blaring from the stereo, she was boiling spaghetti and thawing ground beef in the microwave for the sauce, again thanking the stars that her room had a small kitchen and bath. It was after eleven, and she was pondering how to warm the garlic bread without an oven, when she heard a small scuff behind her. Beetlejuice was standing in the room, still in the linen shirt and trousers of the day before, although she noticed with a bit of a lurch in her stomach that more of the buttons on his shirt were undone. In his hands was a gigantic bundle of near black roses tied with ribbon, and on his gaunt and pale face a slightly goofy expression of hopefulness.

"Didn't mean to run out on you last night, Lyds. Your roommate kinda… well, she was a little more direct than… um, she scared me." He shuffled, and Lydia grinned at him. She reached out to take the roses.

"B, these are… amazing. I've never seen this shade of red before!"

"Yeah?" He grinned back at her, pleased to have surprised her. "Well, Juno keeps a garden, you know, and, well…" Was he tacitly admitting that he had gone to Juno for advice, or that he had stolen them? Lydia was tempted, but determined not to press him. She looked at her sparse cabinets and smiled shyly at him. "Do you have a vase, B?"

"Sure, Lyds! I've got bunches!" He flicked his long fingers and the room was suddenly filled, from floor to ceiling, with teetering stacks of vases and containers of all kinds. Lydia gaped. Some were of glass, some of metal, and some were obviously of silver and gold. One in particular, balanced precariously on top of her television, looked to be encrusted with rubies. She wandered past Beetlejuice, just trying to take it all in. Finally, she spotted a heavy tarnished silver vase underneath her pillow that was heavy and wide enough to hold all of the flowers.

"Can I use that one?" She pointed, and every other vase in the room vanished with a pop. He beamed at her.

"You have an eye, Lyds. That was one of Paulie's!"

"Paulie?" She looked at him curiously, lifting the heavy vase and tucking the flowers inside. She saw that it was already filled with water, and smiled back at him in thanks.

"Sure, you know. Silversmith. Made all sorts of things. Neat guy. Rushed around a lot on his horse at night, though, and was always looking for lamps—kinda crazy like that."

"Paul Revere? This vase was made by Paul Revere?" Her eyes were wide with astonishment. Beetlejuice snapped his fingers.

"That was his name, alright. Nice guy. Terrible with the ladies, tho. I gave him a few pointers." He pretended to polish his nails.

"Pointers, eh?" She set down the vase and walked over to him, fixing him with an amused stare. "Like, never run out on a lady who needs you?"

"Um…" he stammered, backing up a step.

"Like always tell the truth? Like stand fast even in the face of discomfort or danger?" She was close enough to poke his breast with every other word, and he was pressed so far back against her closet that he was starting to fade through it.

"Hey, now." He worriedly took her hand in his and laced his fingers with hers. "I'm here now." His voice sunk to a near-whisper. "I may not be the greatest at this, Lyds, but I'm here now." He found her other hand and held them both, and she was suddenly aware that she had forgotten to breathe. "Last night I realized somethin', although it took a lot of… time."

"What, B?" Her eyes flicked back and forth between his eyes and his lips, as he struggled with words.

"I don't know much about l…love, Lyds." His body heat was actually increasing, as if he was overheating with the strain of being perfectly honest. She was completely still, afraid that if she moved, she would startle him. "All I wanted was an open gate, when this all began. And now that I have it, I'm not interested so much in getting out as in… as in…" he faltered, and she squeezed his hands. He tried again. "I never thought for a second that you would want me to stay." His gaze dropped to the ring on her finger, and she suddenly flushed violently to her ears.

"You were listening." But there was no heat behind her voice.

"Yep. Why didn't you tell me that you were wearing my ring?"

"I…" It was her turn to stumble over words. "I haven't thought of it as yours for a while. It's been a long time. And when you showed back up again, I didn't really think about it." That was a lie, of course, and she knew it, and she knew that he knew. He looked at her skeptically, and she remembered how hard it had been for him to be honest. Deep breath. "Okay, I lied. I thought about it constantly. But how could I admit to myself that I was falling for a ghost that almost killed my dad?"

"Poltergeist." he corrected softly, neatly sidestepping her reference to that dark night, and she let it slide.

"Whatever." She could feel the crackle of his energy deep inside her, if she had somehow crossed a barrier and was being flooded with his essence. It made her a bit lightheaded.

"S'an important distinction. Like callin' you a dog." His mouth brushed lightly against her ear as her hand found a way inside his shirt. His skin was like ivory, smooth and cool, and her fingertips tingled with the buzz of his gauss.

"M'not a dog." She kissed his throat, his chin, and he drew back slightly, his hands sliding down her back to cradle her hips, and he smiled.

"Exactly."

The last of her restraint snapped like a too-tense violin string, and she surged against him like a wave. Dinner, flowers, history, enmity—everything faded to a hum in the background of their kiss. And he held her in trembling arms, and keened her name softly with his mouth against her cheek, and she was lost.


	20. Aurora

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

* * *

**Chapter 20: Aurora**

Many different types of energy exist in the world. Human energy registers as heat, and spectral energy manifests as electricity. By the time Lydia realized that the meat sauce was burning, she was awash in a vibrant, tingling glow. "Oh!" She broke away from him and ran to the stove to push the pot onto the backburner, and then waved her hands ineffectually at the smoke. Beetlejuice came up behind her, grinning, and flicked it away. She chuckled. "Useful, that."

"Look, Lydia," he murmured, and tugged the buttons open on his shirt, while she flushed, as interested as she was embarrassed. His skin was a beautiful pearly iridescence, with flashes of blues and greens in the curves and hollows. But where she had rested her hands, she could clearly see the outline of her fingers in a flush of pink. She stared, amazed, as the color faded slowly away. Unable to resist, she pressed her hand against the curve of his ribs, underneath where his heart would be, and he shivered, his hands flexing helplessly by his sides. "Um, we should eat. I, um, I… dinner, an' all." She lifted her hand to see a perfect imprint emblazoned there like a burn.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered.

"No. Oh, no, not hurt. But if you don't stop that, we're never going to enjoy the meal you cooked." His rumbling purr raced through her, and she had to work to take control of her rebellious body.

"Right. Food." She shook herself, and closed his shirtfront like curtains, and tore herself away.

Dinner was wonderful, if a little more done than she had intended. They sat at the tiny table that doubled as a homework desk and mail drop, and Beetlejuice told her stories of his capers as they ate. And she was very hungry. At one point, as he was relishing a large chunk of garlic bread, she asked, "So what happens to the food, B? I'm not going to find a big pile of spaghetti on your chair when you leave, am I?" She flashed him a cheeky grin, and he choked on a giggle, and swallowed carefully.

"Internal combustion, babes. It all turns into energy, and just radiates. Here, I'll show you." He snapped his fingers, and the entire room was immediately engulfed by a vibrant aurora-like glow. Lydia gasped, astonished. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Brilliant rainbow flashes undulated like fiery ribbons, whipping and swirling in fascinating, kaleidoscopic patterns. She stood up, and ran her hands through the vivid wash of light, feeling it eddy and swirl against her fingertips.

"This is your glow?"

"Yep!" he beamed with obvious pride.

She got a suspicious look in her eyes. "It's gigantic."

He smiled nervously, suddenly realizing what he had betrayed. "Um."

"Much, much larger than I had thought." He gave her an attempt at an innocent look, and she shook her head at him, her eyes narrowing. "And here I thought I had to be pressed up against you to be inside it."

He grimaced comically, a little boy stripped of his guilty secret. "Well, it's better that I hang on to you, just in case, you know?"

But she was laughing. "You sneak!" But there was too much admiration in her voice for him to miss, and he gave her his most charming grin. Shaking her head, she began clearing away the plates. But he preempted her, and she had to duck as the dishes raced into the kitchen and set to washing themselves in the sink. "I like that, B!" she grinned.

"Is that all you like?" His voice was throaty and dark, and she shivered.

"Not even remotely all," she affirmed, and tucked herself comfortably into his lap.

"Good. Now…" He settled in to what she realized was just a current of air, with her comfortably sprawled against him. "Let's talk Halloween." And that feral grin prickled across her shoulders again, and she wondered briefly what she had gotten herself into.


	21. Name Calling

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

**AN:** Coming down to the wire! This short chapter will answer one question, but raises another.

You put me on a line and hung me out to dry  
Darling that's when I decided to go to see you  
You cut me down to size and opened up my eyes  
Made me realize what I could not see.

--Coldplay: _Swallowed in the Sea_

_

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_

**Chapter 21: Name Calling**

The next few days passed in a pleasant rush of chatting, planning, and long nights of storytelling, until the quarrel over the coffee. Beth returned on Monday and was pleased to find that her vocal observation had eased the atmosphere in the room to livable. She even tolerated Beetlejuice's antics, to a point. He enjoyed hiding her pens and pencils, but on this morning, the Friday before the week of Halloween, he had decided to hide the coffeemaker, which ended in such a furious commotion between the two of them that Lydia had to interfere.

"Beetlejuice! Where did you put the coffeemaker?" She squinted at the innocence-protesting poltergeist lounging on her bed. He was laying on his stomach and inch or two above the bed, a book of British poetry under his nose. The illusion would have been perfect, except that the book was upside down. He grinned mischievously at her and leaned back on his elbow, his linen shirt hanging open and his pearlescent skin glowing in the morning light. Fighting distraction, she scowled with as much ferocity as she could muster. "Really, B, you know you shouldn't mess with the coffee."

He gave her a speculative look. Beth groaned, exasperated. "Please, no lover's quarrel! I just want my bloody coffee, alright?" Lydia's face flooded pink at the thought.

"Beth, Beetlejuice and I, we aren't lovers. We're just… um, you know, dating. Or something."

Beth rolled her eyes. "Yes, that's why he spends all his time here. Don't tell me you two… I mean, I don't know if it's poss… bloody hell, I don't even want to know. Beetlejuice! Coffee?"

But he was looking soberly at Lydia. She was too embarrassed to even look up from the floor. He sighed theatrically and flicked a finger, and a huge silver tray appeared with milk and coffee and fine china cups, spiraling lazily towards where Beth was standing. And then, as he turned back to his upside down book, he muttered clearly enough to be heard by both, "Oh, it's possible."

"Beetlejuice!" Lydia exclaimed, unthinking in her chagrin. But all she saw was a look of terrible hurt, and a soft pop, and he was gone. Gone. She had sent him back.

Beth was as shocked as she. "Bloody hell, Lyddie! I thought… oh. Oh." And then she couldn't think of anything to say, because without its master, the coffee tray crashed to the floor, spraying hot coffee and cold milk in a three foot radius. Lydia just stood in shock, staring at the space where he had been. Beth reached for her. "I said his name! It's my fault, Lyddie. Mine."

"No. You couldn't send him back." Lydia's voice was quiet. "I did it. I said his name three times. I just… I didn't think that… I was just careless." But Beth knew exactly what she was thinking.

"You didn't think it mattered, did you? Oh, dear." She stepped carefully over the broken china to Lydia, and slid her arms around her. "Oh, dear girl. He loves you. He does." Lydia rested her head on her friend's shoulder and hot tears leaked down her nose.

"No, Juno was right. Juno was right." Lydia's muffled voice was full of anguish. "And I was so… he has been so… so wonderful!" The last word came out in a wail, and all of Lydia's happiness turned to ashes. Beth squeezed her, trying to comfort as best as she could. Finally, Lydia calmed, and Beth managed to get her over to the bed. They sat down and Beth wiped her tears with a sheet corner that smelled of ozone and whiskey.

"Now, get ahold of yourself, Lyddie. Just because he got sent back, doesn't mean he doesn't love you. The way I see it, there are two possibilities. One, there is something he loves _more_ than he loves you, or two…" She paused, uncertain, but felt it had to be said. "Or two, there is something _you_ love more than you love him."


	22. Spooked

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

* * *

**Chapter 22: Spooked**

Beetlejuice was drunk. Really, really drunk. He hadn't thought it was possible, but there he was, sprawled upon his crumpled bed and surrounded by at least a dozen empty rum bottles, drunk as a sailor on shore leave. He snorted, feeling poetically ironic. Was this shore leave? She had insisted, hadn't she? "Lydia…"

Part of him knew that it hadn't been intentional. He had asked her enough times to say his name, because he loved hearing the way it sounded on her lips. She had probably just gotten too familiar with it. He always wanted to hear his name from her, on either side of the gateway. But her tone, at the last. Was it really so horrible to contemplate being his lover? Sure, he was dead, but it wasn't like he was a zombie, or anything. No rot, no horrible beyond-the-grave stench. Well, unless death by rum counted for that. He smoothed his hand over his pearlescent skin in the darkness and remembered the state of his spectral body after he had first died. He had looked almost human then, if a bit waterlogged. But time and being in the presence of the Administration had taught him a great deal, and he had… changed. He had sharpened and been refined, becoming as lithe and graceful as a demon, but with better teeth. His pearly translucence was a natural effect of radiating in his aurora glow all the time, as well as being completely immune from getting sunburn. Although he would never be mistaken for human in his natural form, he didn't think he was repulsive. She had never objected to his kisses. His mind flooded with the memory of her, her small hands clutching at his back as her body heat radiated through him like swirling water. Gods… where was the rum?

As for the whole love thing, he had never had any illusions that she would love him more than anything else in her life. He had never expected that of her. But he had hoped, however fruitlessly, that she might come to love him well enough in time. That they might make some sort of a life together. Daft. He was fooling himself. But it was a nice dream.

And then there had been the ring. Try as he might, he couldn't dismiss it. A crow picks up pretty trinkets and tucks them away. She chose to wear the ring that he had attempted to imprison her with. Small clues, like her striped pants, had pointed to her being fond of him. He tried to rise, and the room wobbled. Dammit, he was going to go harass her into calling him back, if only so that she could slap him across the chops. Whatever her true feelings for him were, knowing had to be better than speculating. And he was out of rum.

Lydia passed her morning in misery. On the one hand, she wondered how she could ever have expected that the poltergeist would hold any sort of tender feelings for her, as he clearly had. Hadn't he? In all the time he had spent with her, he had never once taken advantage of her trust. At least, she hadn't read about it in the papers. On the other hand, she felt betrayed. In a few short weeks, he had made her a believer in love, with a ghost, no less. _Poltergeist… _she heard his annoyed voice in her ear, but it wasn't him. Just her mind remembering him. She had felt safe with him, and his passion for her left her aglow and tingling and completely in awe. He wanted her around. He wanted her…

Was that it? His cryptic comment about 'it' being possible? Lydia flushed painfully. She had never even thought about… that. Was that why he didn't love her? But it couldn't be. That couldn't be. He had never even asked. She dismissed the thought in favor of something that was less likely to rip out her heart and trample it. What if it was she that was the weak link?

Of course, that was entirely possible, as there were many things that she loved. Her dad and even her stepmom, her art and photography, her grandparents, the Maitlands… who was to say which love was greater? The emotions that swirled around Beetlejuice were powerful and shook her deep, certainly, but how could you compare that with the steady love for a parent or a friend? How could a passion of a few weeks supersede the love of an entire life?

The more she thought about it, the more she was inclined to agree with Juno, that Beetlejuice had been tricked, and that it was highly unlikely, if not impossible, for two people to love each other most of all the things in their lives. For passionate love, he had her in both hands. But for the patient, steady love that breeds a lifetime of companionship, well… that would take time, wouldn't it? She sighed, and realized she had passed the library, where she intended to do some studying.

But the library was worse, not better. Upon opening her notebook to take notes from the reading on persuasive writing, she found that every inch was covered with a curling, old-fashioned scrawl—her name, over and over again. She flipped through the notebook all the way to the end, and then thrust it back in her bag and took out a pen, flustered. She asked her neighbor for a piece of paper, and attempted to begin again, but the pen was dry. 'Beetlejuice!" she muttered, flushing. Had he used up all of her ink? A sharp cut in the wood on her desk appeared, the shaving curling delicately into a spiral.

One.

This was going to be a very very long day.


	23. Cryptic

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

* * *

**Chapter 23: Cryptic**

All of Lydia's pens were dry; even her favorite Zebra. Well beyond irritation and into annoyance now, she was using a stubby library pencil that she had found in a box on the ancient card catalog, sharpening it every few moments with fierce strokes from her exacto knife. All of her notebooks were filled, cover to cover, with her name, and three guesses as to who was responsible. Persuasive writing, indeed. After she covered both sides of the borrowed sheet of paper with incoherent notes, she became irritatingly conscious that she was going to have to go buy another notebook. Gathering her things, she stomped out of the library, drawing more curious glances than usual, still clutching the stubby little pencil in her hand. On her abandoned desk, the pencil shavings stirred and swirled about, finally settling sadly in an all too familiar pattern. _Lydia._

A half an hour later, new notebook and several pens in hand, Lydia decided that the library might not be the best place for her. For one, she didn't want to be responsible for the further defacing of school property, and for two, she truly just wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Although he couldn't touch her, he could haunt her, and she didn't know which was more distracting. So she chose the one place she figured he would be least likely to follow her—out into the brilliant October sunlight.

Settling into the low branches of a beautiful old hornbeam, she opened her notebook to a fresh page and attempted to think of an opening paragraph to her persuasive paper. It was going to be on the defense of making historical landmarks of houses with well-documented hauntings. The fate of the Maitland's had been close to her heart, and she knew how important it was that their house stay intact for their time here. But she didn't know quite how to frame the argument without making claims that she knew ghosts and wanted them to be comfortable. A pretty problem.

When she finally looked down again, there was already writing on the page. Her eyes narrowed. The writing read, '_I like your hair like that_.' Ah, the cryptic messages from the spirit world. She scowled and wrote underneath it, '**Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around**?'

There was a slight pause, and then, the little stubby pencil drifted over the paper a little unsteadily, '_Nope_. _Outta rum._'

'**B, please.'**

'_Lyds, look. I shant keep you long, m'dear. Jus concerned bout you, izzal.'_

'**Well, there's no need. I'm fine. I just need some time to think. And what's with the random handwriting?' **Because his words wavered below and above the line like waves on the shore, and seemed a little more curly than normal.

'_Eh? Whazzat? You got a new pen?'_

'**B, are you okay?'**

"_Never better. Lyddie. Lydia. Sweet, lovely Lydia."_

"**Are you drunk, Beetlejuice?"**

"_Duzznt count if ya write it, love."_ Lydia smiled despite herself. "_Ah, I saw that! S'my girl."_

At that, most of her hurt and confusion of the morning collapsed. **"B, I'm sorry about this morning. Forgive me?"**

"_S'nuthin to forgive, love. Only natural to want to say my name. Handsome name, too. Sexy name." _She giggled.

"**So you aren't mad?"**

"_Um, no. Crazy, probably, but not mad. Not at you. Never." _Lydia resisted the incredible strong urge to lean down and kiss the notebook. She took a deep breath.

"**B, can I ask you a favor?"**

"_Sure, babes. Anything you want." _These words were written more firmly, and she swallowed a rush of heat.

"**Will you pick me up on Friday for the party? And give me the week to think over things?"**

A long pause now. The pencil spun lazily above the page, tracing mesmerizing circles. Then finally, "_A week?"_

"**Please, B?"**

After another couple of circles, the pencil settled point down again. _"Can't deny you anything. M'not a djinn, but I think I know what it mus be like. Yer wish is my command. And all that. M'lady." _Lydia sighed softly, her cheeks burning, and stroked the paper where he had written those last words, smudging them a little.

"**You make me rethink myself, B."**

"_Makes two of us." _A pause, and then, _"Don't tell Juno. Never let me live this down." _And the pencil wandered in a broad circle before gently tucking itself behind her ear. She felt him go. But it was a very long time before she was able to focus back on her opening paragraph.


	24. Halloween Night Part One

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

**AN**: Z' Gran Finale! Whew.

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**Chapter 24: Halloween Night Part One**

Friday. Lydia had begun to get heart palpitations at the mere thought of Fridays. And now it was here. Tonight was the night he was coming for her. The week had been unnaturally quiet, with not a hint of supernatural goings-on. In fact, the calm had been so pervasive that midweek Beth had admitted that she missed all the craziness that was the consequence of his presence.

"You okay, Lyddie? I mean, if I miss him, I know you do." But Lydia had just given her a wan smile.

"You might rethink that in a few days. He's coming for me Friday." Beth raised both her eyebrows, but subsided with a enigmatic smile.

Lydia crawled out from under the covers and realized immediately that she wasn't going to make it to class. Butterflies were drumming up a Jamaican beach party in her stomach, and her knees felt a little unsteady. The party tonight, at least in the beginning, was at the Olde Bryan Inn, and she had spent the week putting together a costume, and staying away from mirrors, just in case.

The day was spent putting together the final touches, seams and embroidery. She was pleased with it, but wished that she could put it on and see the whole effect without having to use a mirror. Ah, well. That would come soon enough. And though the minutes dragged by, she finally watched the last of the sunlight fade from the treeline. Beth had left her nervous roommate before dusk, promising to meet her at the inn after dark. It was time. She pulled on her costume, tucking and buttoning and tugging until it looked right, and then she threw a long cape over the whole ensemble. The mirror was waiting. She addressed it, feeling like her stomach was attempting to defy gravity. "Ready, B?"

The mirror fogged lazily. _Say my name._

"Beetlejuice."

_Lydia. _

"Beetlejuice." Gods, her voice was shaking.

_Are you ready for this?_

She swallowed, hard. "Beetlejuice."

The whirlwind stormed around her, lifting her up gently in a swirling embrace. She leaned back into it, eyes closed, lips parted, trusting him with the faith of a child.

"Lydia." His mouth was against her cheek, his rumbling near-whisper like lightening through her body. Her arms flew around him in a hug that would have squeezed the life-breath out of him, had he any. He hugged her back, his lips pressed against her hair, taking her in. "Miss me?"

She smiled, and was surprised to feel tears in her eyes. He pulled back from her, his expression indescribably gentle, and lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "Not at all." But her voice betrayed her. His smile was laced with tenderness and something that looked suspiciously like hunger, but he shook himself and set her down.

"Liar." His eyes were intense, and he dropped his gaze to her cloak-wrapped body. "You've been hiding from me all week, Lyds. Can I see, now?" And his hands found the edges of the cloak, a little more slowly that absolutely necessary, and tugged it gently open, and she didn't protest. His expression changed into one of stunned wonder, and his hands tightened on her shoulders. She watched him as he took in the sight of her, her knees feeling treacherous. From the graceful midriff-cut bolero to the low sash and layered petal skirt, she was showing more skin than she ever had in her life. She pulled away from him and spun around, the cloak falling in a puddle at her feet, and the skirts spinning above her knees.

"What do you think, B? Was it worth the wait?" He only stared at her belly, a small piercing dangling a gold coin against her pale skin.

"Um. I… um, you… amazing. Gods, Lyds…" He paused, swallowed, and tried again. "Um…" He looked at the ground. "C'mon, B, get a grip," he muttered to himself. She was flushed with his loss for words, and beamed at him. And then she noticed what he was wearing.

A long graceful coat in fine blue silk flowed from his shoulders, cut in the colonial style of the early 1700's and beautifully embroidered with fine gold thread. A long gold vest glimmered underneath it, and a pale linen shirt, open to his breast. His luminescent skin picked up a soft reflection of the silk, and rippled with a lovely play of light. Dark breeches, and dark brown leather boots that cuffed just below the knee finished the costume, but the subtle wear around the edges and the worn quality of the boots told her practiced eye that this was not a costume at all. She looked back up at his face to find him studying her with a delicious smile playing at the corners of his expressive mouth. Then the promise of his smile was fulfilled, and she was amazed at the beauty it brought to his lean features. "Told you I haunted Henry Morgan? More than once he found that his favorite coat had gone missin'." A mischievous light danced in his eyes. "Are you ready, my gypsy queen?" He offered her his arm, but she paused.

"Are we doing the wormhole thing?"

He flashed that feral smile at her, the one she had not been able to forget, and suddenly she didn't feel so safe with him. Desired, yes. Safe; not remotely. He offered her his arm. "Somethin' much better. Come outside." They walked out together, Lydia nervous with anticipation, and out on the curb outside the dorm, shining in its brilliant chrome glory and surrounded by a small crowd of stunned fratboys, was a magnificent motorcycle. It gleamed, and seemed to flex its seductive curves, and Lydia clutched at Beetlejuice's arm.

"Oh gods, B. It's beautiful." He just grinned and swept through the crowd, perfectly visible to everyone and completely unconcerned. The crowd fell back a little now that the owner had presented himself, and then back even farther at the sight of Lydia. Whispers reached her, tantalizing threads of conversation mixed with a kind of awed silence. Beetlejuice swung a graceful leg over the machine and righted it, and Lydia slid on behind him, tucking her skirts under her thighs. The beast underneath them roared to life, and Lydia's arms slipped securely around her companion's slender hips. She pressed into his back, and felt something secure slip around her, cradling her against him. He was taking no chances with her. Thunder beneath her, lightening in her arms, and the night had only just begun.


	25. Halloween Night Part Two

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

**AN:** Thank you a thousand thanks, all of you who hung with me and gave encouragement. I wouldn't have made it... And yes :laughs: still pondering an epilogue... no fair pelting me with acorns!

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**Chapter 25: Halloween Night Part Two**

Olde Bryan Inn was on a hilltop overlooking a magnificent spring that was said to be haunted by the ancient gods of the land and water. It was a stately whitewashed brick building with gorgeous woodwork and brass inside. The front room was tightly packed with college kids and locals, but Beetlejuice managed to navigate through the press of bodies without effort, leaving a path for Lydia to follow. She laughed out loud at the sheer joy of it, as the music took her and she swayed to the rhythm of it. But the front room was not their destination.

Further back, the music got louder and the crowd thinner. It was here that Lydia spotted Beth, in a violent electric blue catsuit straight out of Austin Powers. She looked gorgeous, her short blonde hair in loose curls and huge dangly peace signs hanging from her ears. She grabbed and hugged Lydia, and then took a good look at her. "Lyddie! You're beautiful!" Then she saw Beetlejuice, and her jaw dropped. "B! Oh my God!" She paused for a stunned moment. "Oh my dear God. When did you get luscious?" Beth's boyfriend was still staring at Lydia, and didn't notice his girl's overt admiration of Lydia's companion until it was gone with a blissful laugh. "About damn time! Now maybe I can relax in my own room!" Lydia blushed and grinned, and Beetlejuice seemed a little off-balance from the admiration. He grinned a little loopily, and glanced happily at Lydia, who was beaming back at him. But the throbbing music was pulling her in, and she pushed against him to get him moving. He happily obliged her, plucking a bottle of rum and two glasses out of the air as he turned.

"This is the good stuff, Lyds. Eleanor brought it up for us," he rumbled, regarding the bottle with toothy anticipation.

"Ooh, she's here?" Lydia cast about, but heard her delicate voice before she caught a glimpse of her.

"Wouldn't miss it, lovely Lydia." Eleanor glided up to them, not in her trademark dress, which would have been a dead giveaway, but rather a lovely peach ballgown and delicate mask. She gazed appraisingly at Beetlejuice's coat. "So that's where that coat disappeared to. Henry was quite irritated at you for that, BeeJay." She smiled. "It looks better on you than it ever did on him, but then, you always were a better pirate." Then she turned to Lydia, and got a good look at her. "My, Lydia, when you flower, you open into the most magnificent bloom in the whole garden! I am glad to see that you have come to agree on terms." With a sweet, pleased smile for them both, she turned and went to look after her other guests.

Lydia tugged at the sleeve of his coat. "Dance with me, B?" The bottle and glasses vanished with alacrity, and he swept her up in his arms and spun her to the middle of the floor. The music was earthy and throbbing, and it filled Lydia with abandon. She threw off all of her cares, all the worry and the guilt, and allowed herself to be stolen away. He took turns holding her and letting her spin free of him, amazed at her wild beauty. Her skirts flew in colorful circles, and the gold coin in her belly flashed in the dim lights.

Someone hollered his name above the noise, and he turned and saw his old friend Barry, dressed as a volcano, of all things, waving at him. "Lightshow, eh, howabout it? Light 'er up, BJ!"

Beetlejuice howled with joy and cracked his knuckles. With a dramatic flick, the room was engulfed with his brilliant glow. The music cranked up another notch, and Lydia pressed against him, her outstretched fingers creating curling eddys in the aurora light. He held her tight and low, and she swayed against him, until she was vividly aglow and he was flushed through with her heat.

Much later, when Lydia couldn't catch her breath anymore, they settled at a table with Eleanor, Barry, Bryan, and a few others that Lydia didn't know. Beetlejuice broke out the rum, and Lydia took a short measure of the amber liquid, and a large tumbler of water. Introductions were soon done, with equal measures of expressions of envy and wishes for happiness from the gentlemen ghosts at the table. Lydia blushed again and drank the whole shot of rum all at once, and then choked, laughing. The burn sank down into her belly, with a rich sweetness that recalled immediately the taste of her companion's kiss. Her dark eyes focused on him, and he must have known what she was thinking, because his hand reached under the table to clasp hers. It was a few moments before Barry tore his gaze away from the palpable tension between the two and broke into a story that soon had everyone in tears of laughter.

They laughed, talked, and danced long into the night. As the crowd thinned, Lydia caught Beetlejuice looking intently at her more than once. Finally, she focused her full attention on him in a lull between stories, and he stroked his cool fingers down her hot cheek. "Come outside with me, Lyds. S'a beautiful night." She gave him a shy smile and rose from the table. All the men stood too, and Beetlejuice cast a slightly dangerous glare all around, until he was certain they were just bidding Lydia good night. He slid his arm around her waist and guided her out the door into the crisp October night.

He brought her to the overlook, where she could see the ancient spring illuminated by the brilliant moon. She sank back into him, and he held her comfortably, content for the moment to bask in her presence. But she turned in his arms, her dark eyes meeting his green eyes, and she mirrored his look of pure adoration. He tucked her hair back behind her ear and bent to kiss her at the same time she arched to meet him. She smiled against his mouth and murmured, "For a ghost, your kiss is remarkably substantial."

"Poltergeist," he muttered, his teeth closing gently on her lower lip.

"Whatever," she agreed, her hands sliding underneath his coat and vest, and tugging his shirt untucked.

He took a short breath, and then curled her against him. "One more wormhole, Lydia?"

"What about the bike?"

"Oh, he'll find his own way home," he said, a little breathlessly. She widened her eyes at him, and then he tucked her head into the curve of his neck, and her world shattered into a hundred thousand shards of brilliant aurora-colored glass.

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	26. Possession

**Disclaimer:** Beetlejuice and Co is the brilliant creation of David Geffen, brought into cultural icon status by the excellent Michael Keaton. I do not own; i simply, um, 'borrow.' Heh.

**AN**: Written to "Fix You" by Coldplay—go to Napster and you can listen.

This chapter is rated **M for Mature. M**, I tell you. So if you don't want to know how it is possible, I promise that you won't be missing any important plot points if you hit the back button. Hugs and kisses, this is dedicated to WitchyWanda, mywickedlyweirdnature, Dr. Strangelove Lover, and Spiderjuice—you rock my world. The Epilogue.

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**Chapter 26: Possession**

It wasn't her dorm room that he took her to, but his own home. She staggered a little breathlessly after the world realigned itself, because crossing over the boundary between his world and hers had been even more violent that she had previously experienced. He held her steadily until she regained herself, and then led her gently to the bed. She couldn't see a lot in the darkness, except for the glow of the large mirror set on the opposite wall. "Is this where you live, B?" He nodded, not taking his eyes off her.

Beetlejuice sat gracefully down on the bed next to her, and Lydia was overcome with shyness, sudden and paralyzing. "B, you know that this is all new to me. I mean, not just the ghost part." Her voice was rough-edged from the long night of laughing and dancing, and her hands fluttered nervously to the back of her neck in a half-stretch.

"Poltergeist," he chuckled, and she swatted him in mock censure, but her shoulders relaxed at this familiar jibe. He caught one of her hands in his and kissed her palm. "Lyds, this'll surprise you, but it's new to me, too. I've never been here…" His fingers ghosted against her lips. "An I've never been here…" His thumb curved over her surely-audible heart. "So far as I see it, there's only one question that the answer matters." He paused, his eyes flicking away from her face to her hands.

"What?" she prompted.

He didn't look up, and his voice was quiet. "Do you want me? Because I'm yours if you do. Hell, I'm yours if you don't, though I hate to admit it. Hell on my reputation, an all." He tried to shelter his vulnerability from her, but she saw it, all the same. And she realized that they were both laid bare in the face of the other. Big bad poltergeist and a pale, dark-haired girl. And he would stay or go on her word.

She lifted her hand, still entwined in his, to the smooth hollow of his cheek. Her fingertips trailed over the abrupt line of his jaw, and down the finely delineated muscle of his neck. His eyes, so intent upon her, fluttered closed, and in that moment, she knew why she had kept his ring, knew why she had worn those striped pants, knew why she had called his name on that first dark night.

"Of course I do, you infuriating, beautiful, exasperati—" But his hand was on her lips, and his smile was unfocused and gentle.

"Beautiful?" He was so close now that she could see the subtle play of light beneath the surface of his skin. She nodded, her throat closing up a bit.

"Infuriating was… first…" She allowed him to lift her gently into his lap and when he kissed her, she was already easing his coat off of his shoulders. The vest followed, and thankfully there were no buttons, because she didn't want to have to repair Henry Morgan's finest silk coat. His hands settled on her hips, his thumbs pressing low into her belly as she tugged his linen shirt the rest of the way out. But rather than move his hands, he just phased out and the shirt passed right through him. Lydia laughed despite the fluttering heat where his hands rested on her. "Full of tricks."

"Matter of convenience, babe." He glimmered at her, and she realized she had never seen so much of him exposed at once. Her fingers hesitantly sought out his curves and hollows, the fine muscle structure of his chest and back, and the clean line between his stomach and hips, just above his breeches. As she explored him, his head sunk to her shoulder, and he twitched and trembled against her.

"Gods, B," she whispered into his throat. "Your skin is glowing like a fire opal."

When he raised his head to look at her, his eyes had gone dark with some deep, flickering fire, and his teeth were bared with an emotion that she had no problem naming at all. But still, with great effort, he held himself back.

"Are you afraid, still, Lydia?"

She grinned, showing more teeth than usual. "Since when have I been afraid of you?"

He mirrored her, wild and hungry. "Since you met me." His hands undid the clasp of her jacket and tugged it off her shoulders, leaving her bare to him, her skin glowing blue in the pale reflection of him.

"Full of yourself…" But he couldn't play anymore, and though a tiny corner of his mind registered that she had one-upped him, the rest of him didn't give a damn. Whatever had held them an inch away from each other snapped like a thread, and they crashed together, two ocean swells into one, lips to teeth and warm breast to cool. He wrapped her up, tasting her cheek, her throat, her breasts, and her belly until she was grasping desperately at his arms. "Gods, Beetlejuice, please!" His teeth closed gently on her hip and she whimpered wordlessly. He forced himself to stop for a moment, and he caught her hand and kissed it.

"Lydia, this is going to hurt but it'll be quick, I promise you." Her fingers curled around his chin and brought him back up to her mouth, kissing him with a depth of desire that he had never experienced, in all his long life.

"B, just, please, or I'll…" she gasped, "have to kill you."

"Your wish is my—oof! Okay, okay!" He flicked his fingers and there was nothing between them now. They both fell silent, each savoring the feel of the other, for just a moment, and then he gently pushed past her defenses, and she savored the pain too, and he, all of him, was hers to the core.

She rocked him like she was the ocean, and he the boat, her hands tugging against his slender hips. He rode the wave of her, never as lost as he was in that moment, feeling her heat building, and remembering the storm in the crater now. She was radiant beneath him, smiling and arching against him, and when he bent to kiss her he felt her teeth against his throat, and she was surging, the storm, the golden red fire from the belly of the earth crashing through her and through him, and she was keening his name and he hers, until there was nothing left but the heat and the blinding aurora glow.

Lydia clutched at his neck, and she was weeping, the deep spring of her soul set free by the joy of him against her, and he was the one that rocked her now, gentle like the lapping waves against the shore. And if he might have leaked a few tears too, who would notice? A shuddering breath, and another, and she calmed in his embrace, until he rolled underneath her, and she settled against his shoulder, completely undone.

"I didn't hurt you, did I, Lyds?" he murmured against the top of her head. She stirred, and then propped herself up on her elbows.

"No." And her confidence was so complete that he smiled, and it was genuine happiness, so unlike him. She grinned back at him. "But I thought for a moment there you were going to vanish in a lightstorm of epic proportions."

"Nah. I was totally in control." His voice was a bit unsteady, and she raised an eyebrow at him and peered around the room, which was lit in an aurora so vibrant that it would be visible for a hundred miles. He followed her gaze, and his smile turned a little goofy. "Well, mostly."

"Uh huh." But she let him have his dignity, for the moment. He squeezed her tight, reveling in her lazy heat, and she slowly sank into sleep.

"Lydia?" She didn't answer. He sighed and kissed her forehead gently. "I… love you, Lyds."

She stirred, but didn't open her eyes. Her breathing was deep and even. He relaxed, and promised himself he would tell her some day when she was awake. Some day.

Lydia smiled very slightly. She would let him keep his dignity.

:fin:


End file.
